


Come To Morning

by HyJackedYerFandom



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Blind!Bilbo, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired By Tumblr, Live Durins!!, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Thilbo, Well Eventual Smut, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:59:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyJackedYerFandom/pseuds/HyJackedYerFandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blow to Bilbo's head from Bolg caused him to go blind.  This is the story on how he continues on with his life in Erebor, realizing his feelings for the King Under the Mountain, and surviving in this new and strange environment with court intrigue, matchmaking busybody dwarves and cake.</p><p>Yes.  There will be cake.</p><p>(Let's all thank <a href="http://hobbitunderthemountain.tumblr.com/">hobbitunderthemountain</a> for the plotbunny please.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [hobbitunderthemountain](http://hobbitunderthemountain.tumblr.com/)'s headcannon game for blind!Bilbo Baggins.
> 
> Also, I has tumblr too! [HyJackedYerFandom](http://hyjackedyerfandom.tumblr.com/)

He thought for sure he’d be dead by now. The wound in his chest from the Pale Orc throbbed and bled freely, but still he lay on the ice on Raven Hill waiting for the world to fade away into nothingness. Instead of peaceful relief in death, he just existed in the realm of pain and agony. One nephew missing, the other nephew dead, but his family avenged, his mountain won, but for what good did it do him now? At least his people had their mountain back, and would no longer by subject to beg and scrimp and debase themselves for to survive.

The great weight of failure pressed down on him, forcing him to face the facts that though the mountain was theirs, he had done so much in error. Falling under the thick deceit of Gold Madness, casting the one person who had made the whole victory possible out, threatening to kill the hobbit for his supposed betrayal. Though the sting of hurt was still there within him, he understood that the burglar had felt that the only way to force Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, to honor his word had been to do what he had done. 

Taking the Arkenstone had been a stroke of genius, and something that Thorin admired now at the end of all things.

His heartbeat was loud and throbbing in his ears, and the cold ice beneath him was so soothing against the overheated flesh of his back. He could taste blood within his mouth, feel it on his face and body from the various wounds he had. Surprisingly, he felt little pain. Perhaps it was the ice’s doing, freezing him and numbing him to the agony he ought to feel from just a grievous wound. Dimly, he saw the great forms of the Eagles of Manwë soaring above him, ripping through the scourge of bats that the orcs of Gundabad had brought with them to blot the sun. He frowned suddenly, a sound reaching his ears through the thud of his heartbeat. A cry, faint but unmistakable, coming from the ruins of Raven Hill.

Turning his head, he forced his blurry vision to focus, trying to spot the owner of the sound that was progressively clearer as he pushed himself to his side. And stared.

The ice that stood between him and Raven Hill was mostly still solid with the exception of the places where Azog and he had fought, breaking through the thick planks of ice. The body of the Defiler lay not far from him, sprawled in the way only a dead body could. He felt a thick sense of satisfaction from avenging his grandfather, and Fíli – his dear, sweet sister-son – knowing that the beasts defiling days were finished.

Across the ice, crawling on his hands and knees from the stone ruined steps of Raven Hill, was their burglar. Blood coated his face, dripping from his nose and pointed ears to coat the pale flesh of the hobbit in crimson smears. The shine of mithril showed that he still wore the gift that Thorin had given him in the armory. It felt like ages ago that he had gifted the hobbit the precious vest, the relief he had felt when Bilbo had come to warn him of the trap being laid by Azog the Defiler for the last of the Durin line had almost been crippling. To see him so obviously injured was like a blow to his chest – aside from the one that the Pale Orc had given him.

It had been Bilbo’s voice that had cut across the throb of his heartbeat. Thorin groaned lowly, feeling the slick slide of blood from the wound in his chest ooze from the coagulation of the ice, and slowly made his way to the hobbit.

“Help!” Bilbo called out softly, as if afraid of being heard, but unable to stop himself from the plea for aid. “Oh, please help!”

His hands slid across the icy slush of the ice in a manner as if he were searching for something, which made Thorin confused even as he continued on his agonizingly slow way to the hobbit’s side. Bilbo hadn’t lifted his head from his search and if he continued to make his way forward he would fall into the hole made by Azog through the ice.

Surely he was aware of the danger around him now? Perhaps the obvious blow to the head had confused the burglar, made it difficult to react to the world around him.

“Bilbo, stay there!” Thorin rasped out, pleased when the hobbit stilled his movements.

“Thorin?” Bilbo called, lifting his head in the general direction of the dwarrow king. “What’s happening?”

“Just stay there, I’m coming to you.” Thorin answered, slowly getting closer to the hobbit with each slide on the ice.

“A-alright.”

Agonizing moments passed before finally, inexorably Thorin was next to Bilbo.

“Are you alright, Burglar?” Thorin asked.

“I…I can’t see, Thorin.” Bilbo said softly, raising his eyes to look up at where he thought Thorin ought to be. “I can’t see.” The last was whimpered in fear.

Panicked, wide hazel eyes searched blindly for something, anything to focus on, Thorin realized. Thick, icy horror sat in his gut at the sight. He had caused this, in his greed madness, he had taken Bilbo’s sight as surely as he had caused the deaths of his sister-son and heir. Grief welled up within him, choking him with his own inadequacies. What had he done?

He shook off the weight of sorrow focusing on the task at hand. He had to protect Bilbo. The Burglar was completely helpless now, unable to protect himself. And if it would take his last breath, he would protect Bilbo Baggins until the end.

“Stay behind me, Bilbo…” Thorin demanded, moving them both until Bilbo was between Thorin’s back and a crumbling stone wall, still resting on the ice. “No matter what, stay behind me.”

Small hands pressed up against his back, he could feel the pressure of Bilbo’s hands through the thickness of Thorin’s armor. He had no doubt that if he hadn’t put on armor at the last moment, he would have bled out a long time ago. Which would have, in turn, killed Bilbo Baggins in his current helpless state.

Time passed, the sun passing over them lazily. Thorin saw one of the Great Eagles dipping down over the body of Fíli, lifting him gently into sharp claws and flying off. Another Eagle flew behind the ramparts, picking up another body and with a low sound of anguish Thorin realized that it was Kili’s lifeless form hanging limply from those deadly talons.

“What?” Bilbo whispered, pressing closer to Thorin. “What is it?”

“The Eagles…have taken Kíli’s body away…”

“…H-his body?” Bilbo squeaked in shock and a sob soon followed. “Oh those poor boys…”

“I have failed them…” Thorin choked out, tears filling his eyes from the depth of his battered soul. “I will not fail you…”

But even as the words passed his lips, he could feel consciousness drifting away from him. He struggled to stay awake, needing to protect Bilbo, but it was like attempting to swim through sand. He grappled for consciousness as the dark edged into his vision. He felt his body slide on the ice as it relaxed without his permission. Sooner than he’d like, Thorin found himself cradled in Bilbo’s arms, the hobbit’s frightened face above his as he held the king close.

“Thorin?” Bilbo cried out, hazel eyes filled with tears that streamed clean lines through the blood on his face. “Thorin?! Stay with me please! Thorin?!”

His breath rasped in his chest, his vision narrowing until all he saw were sightless hazel eyes searching blindly for Thorin’s face. As the black overtook his sight, he heard the hoarse whisper of the hobbit resonate within his soul.

_“Please, don’t leave me alone…”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes up. Longer chapter is longer. Sad chapter is sad.

A repetitive rasping sound drew him from his sleep. He frowned without opening his eyes, turning his head away from the sound. Sleep threatened to drag him under again, but the sound came again, a little more clearly as he focused on it. It didn’t sound like long strokes, but instead it sounded like a scratching on wood.

To be honest, it reminded him of the sound of Bofur carving.  


Under that scritchy-scratchy sound, came the sweet song of birds near an open window, and a low murmur of voices far away. He could hear the pop of a fire burning, and feel the warmth of the blankets that lay upon him, keeping him warm. He lay in a comfortable, warm bed, furs and pillows under his body and the blankets that lay on him, while heavy, were soft and felt luxurious. He could feel that he was wearing a shirt that was smoothed down over his body to his knees – it must have been one of the Company’s to fit so largely.

He floated there, on the boarder of sleep and awake, trying to focus on the world around him. There was something he was missing, something important but for the life of him he couldn’t seem to hold on to the thought. He felt as if he were floating, with no pain and no troubles to dog his waking moments. Frowning softly again, he made a soft noise of discontent, shifting on the bed.

There was a scraping sound, the sound of a chair being dragged over stone.

“Bilbo?” Came a soft voice, hesitantly. “Bilbo, are you awake?”

“’Timeissit?” He grumbled, shifting on the bed again and he struggled to lift himself out of the fog he found himself in.

“Oh, Bilbo, just-…just wait right there! Don’t move!” Came the voice again, eager and joyful.

The scraping sound came again, and strange footsteps moved away from him at a fast clip. He frowned again, rolling over and sitting up on the bed with his feet dangling off of the side of it. When he finally opened his heavy, heavy eyes, he saw-

Nothing.

Lifting his hands to his face, he was startled to find most of his head was wrapped in gauze, and a good portion of it covered his eyes, ears and forehead. He blinked again, he knew this from the feel of his eyelashes brushing along the gauze on his eyes, and a soft sound of unhappiness escaped him. His right arm felt thick and weighted down, and when he reached out with it, felt encased in something hard and solid. Frowning again, he used his left hand to feel on his right arm and hand. A thick plaster cast sat on the limb, encasing it firmly. When he wiggled the fingers on his right hand, there was a dull throb of pain but nothing else.

He still felt light, and as if he was wrapped in cotton wool. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the sensation that was slowly hampering his senses. There was a cacophony of sound coming closer to where he was. A loud ‘BANG’ echoed eerily in the room where he was, and there were so many voices talking at once like a solid wall of noise. It was literally a wall of noise coming closer to him, so loud he could feel each sound as it struck his ears. With a low cry, Bilbo covered his ears and crumbled down on himself, flinging himself from the bed and onto the cold stone floor. The wall of voices just increased their pitch, panic and concern evident with each word, but Bilbo couldn’t decipher who said what and how they meant it when they all spoke together.

The noise got closer, and Bilbo scooted backwards until his back hit a wall and he raised his hands to ward off the noise and battered feeling from the invasion of the room.

“ _Shazara!_ ” Came a familiar bellow, and the noise suddenly dissipated like a soft summer breeze.

Bilbo pressed his hands tightly to his ears again after the bellow, a soft sound of pain escaping him with the movement. While before he had been in a warm, cozy floating expanse with little to no pain, now however he felt his limbs turning to jelly and his whole body felt like one large throbbing wound. It was a good thing that he was already on the floor as he felt that his legs wouldn’t have held him up in the first place. Dimly, through the press of his hands to his ears, he could hear a gentle murmuring, a few soft sentences, but always that gentle murmur.

Suddenly there was the sound of many feet on the stone floor, and the sound of a door shutting. Slowly, hesitantly, Bilbo lowered his hands from his ears, wincing at the acute throbbing in his right arm and hand.

“Bilbo…”

“Thorin?” Bilbo croaked, his throat dry and parched, lifting his head slightly in the direction that he’d heard his friend’s voice.

“Mahal, Bilbo you’ve had us worried…” The voice was closer now, with the plod of dwarvish boots on the stone coming ever closer. “You’ve been asleep for quite a while since the battle, my friend.”

“Oh?” Bilbo asked, his voice a rasp of sound.

“Here, I’ve water for your throat.” A large, thick fingered hand grasped his left hand and after a moment Bilbo relaxed enough to let Thorin maneuver his hand around a metal cup.

After a quick sip of the cool, clean water, Bilbo sighed softly.

“How long?” He asked Thorin.

“Let’s get you back into the bed before we speak. Óin will have my hide if you catch a chill on top of the injuries you’ve sustained from the battle.” Thorin said.

Bilbo sighed exasperatedly, even as he bowed to the King’s wisdom.

“I’m going to pick you up, Master Burglar.” Thorin said with only a slight hesitancy to his voice. “Aside from your bandages on your eyes, there is a great chance of muscle weakness. Óin has informed me that your muscles may not be up to holding your weight and that walking and standing may be difficult for you for some time yet.”

Bilbo paused for a moment, thinking on the words. Just how long had he been sleeping for, he wondered? The only time he could remember anyone having muscle weakness was when his cousin Isengar had fallen from an apple tree and been knocked into a coma for three months. It had taken a long time for his cousin to find his feet again…

“Bilbo?”

“Alright,” Bilbo said, raising his arms with the left hand still holding the now empty cup.

Strong arms moved to grasp him gently, one arm at his back and the other under his drawn up knees. Bilbo looped his arms around Thorin’s neck and shoulders as much as he could considering the size difference between the two of them. The King Under the Mountain seemed to have no trouble bearing Bilbo’s weight, Bilbo thought in a slight daze. The rush of adrenaline was beginning to wash away, leaving him lightheaded and a little dizzy. Resting against the broad chest of his dearest friend Bilbo sighed softly.

“Alright there, Burglar?” Thorin murmured, the sound rumbling through the chest that Bilbo rested against like a sleepy fauntling.

“Tired.” Bilbo murmured, a slightly petulant sound to his voice.

“I imagine you would be.” Thorin replied, and Bilbo felt the passing of air that signaled them moving to their destination. “I’m going to place you back on the bed now.”

At Bilbo’s acquiescence, he felt himself being lowered onto the soft bed, and pillows were maneuvered to prop Bilbo sitting up. After a bit of this, Thorin moved away and Bilbo heard the scrape of wood on stone and the creak of wood as if – oh, Thorin must have dragged a chair to sit in near the bed. Fiddling with the blankets on his lap once again, Bilbo struggled mightily with frustration at the lack of sight.

“How long have I been asleep?” Bilbo asked his friend.

“Almost two months.” Thorin answered promptly. “Shortly after I lost consciousness, the eagles found us and brought us back to Erebor. Gandalf and …Thranduil spent much of their time between the four of us-“

“Four of us?”

“Fíli and Kíli also survived the battle. Kíli lost his left leg at the knee and ear, while Fíli suffered great trauma to his head. Unfortunately for him, most of the right side of his head had to be shaved in order to treat the wounds. He will have an abundant amount scars there though, which will make up for the lack of hair.” Thorin said quietly.

“I…we owe King Thranduil a great deal for our continued healing then…” Bilbo said hesitantly.

“As much as it pains me to admit, you’re correct.” Thorin huffed, bringing a smile to Bilbo’s lips. “We have been very concerned by how long you continued to sleep, but Gandalf assured us that you would persevere and that Hobbit skulls were far tenderer than dwarrows.”

“I…see.” Bilbo trailed off softly, picking at the blankets again, rubbing the soft material between his fingers in an effort to focus a bit more. “I don’t…remember much after you lost consciousness, but…was there anything said, well… about my vision?”

There was silence for a good long moment, and Bilbo felt his heart leap in his throat like a bird struggling to fly free with each passing second.

“My friend, I wish I could give you gladder news.” Thorin’s voice was rough and ragged, and in the words, Bilbo knew the answer before the other spoke it. “They don’t know whether your sight will return to you. The damage to your head was significant.”

“So…I will be blind for the rest of my life.” Bilbo said dully, as he felt a strange prickling in his fingertips and face, the knowledge a blow to his core.

“My friend-“

“I will never read a book again, nor will I be able to write again.” His breath was coming faster and faster, his chest pumping hard and burning with each gasp.

“Burglar-“

“I will never see the green of new growth. I will never see the faces of those I hold most dear. What will I do now? What good is a hobbit that cannot see his garden to tend it?” Bilbo distantly could hear a hysterical tone in his voice, a shrillness that would later embarrass him but at the moment all he could feel was the crushing weight of this new shock. “What good is a hobbit that cannot see to cook his meals and care for his family? What am I to do now?”

A broad hand suddenly grabbed both of his in a tight grip. Without thinking, Bilbo returned the grip tightly, trembling. Thorin's other hand came to cover their joined hands gently.

“Bilbo. Stay here. With us. We will care for you and heal you-“

“I do not want your pity, Thorin Oakenshield-“

“It is not out of pity that I make this offer, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. It is with a grateful heart that I... we want you close to us. You are as much family as any blood relation, if not closer to our hearts.” Thorin argued loudly, knocking a bit of balance back into the panicking hobbit. “You are not a burden, and will never be one. You are strong, and brave. A more courageous person I doubt exists in this world of ours. You will still be able to cook and garden to your heart’s content, we will make it so.”

The tingling feeling in his fingers and face ebbed away, leaving only a sorrow and a kernel of hope deep within his chest. 

“You truly think so?” Bilbo asked hesitantly, his voice thick with unshed tears that welled up in his sightless eyes, soaking the bandages pressing against them.

“We will make it so. You will not be trapped within a sightless void to simply exist and breathe. You will have happiness and joy in your life. You have more than earned it.” 

Those hands didn’t loosen their grip on Bilbo’s; instead they merely tightened gently, comforting him. A choked sob left his thick throat, and Bilbo bent nearly in half with the force of it. Pressing their clasped hands to his bandaged forehead, he cried for the life he had been forced to leave behind.

And he cried for the struggle and hope of the life now laid out before his feet.


	3. Chapter 3

“Kíli, what on Arda are you doing?” Bilbo finally had to ask.

It had been a week since he’d woken up from his two month long coma. In that time, he’d been equally pleased and disgruntled to find that he was never left alone. Someone of the Company was with him at almost all hours. The only exception was when he was sleeping, and even then they weren’t far from him as Dwalin had proved one night.

He’d woken up in the middle of the night with the urge to make water and had thought to shuffle along by himself. He’d only made it four steps from the bed before realizing just how bad an idea it had been to attempt the undertaking by himself. He’d called out, and Dwalin had taken Bilbo’s weight as they made their way to the toilet.

It had been to his delight to discover that the rooms he had for himself had their own bathroom with an in ground tub with heated pipes and private toilet. When he’d asked about his rooms, Fíli had chuckled brightly and said that the rooms suited Bilbo’s new station as the dearest member of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company and he ought to simply enjoy the extravagance. 

But back to the point. The rasping, scritchy-scratchy sound was back, as it had been present every time that Kíli was keeping him company. It was driving Bilbo a little made, to be honest, since he spent most of his time trying to figure out what the noise was.

“I’m carving designs into the cane that I carved for you,” Kíli replied happily, pausing in his work.

“You made me a cane?” Bilbo asked in surprise.

“Yep!” The archer said cheerfully. “Soon enough you’ll be able to walk on your own, but if you get tired you can use the cane to rest some of your weight on. And when you’re better, you can use it to guide your steps! Or you can use it to beat someone over the head with when they frustrate you.”

“I’d work on your ducking skills then, Kee,” Fíli said with an impish giggle.

“Oi!”

Both boys were assigned to keep him company today as most everyone else had begun to clear the lower levels to make room for the coming onslaught of Ereborian refuges from the Blue Mountains. Since those travelling from the Blue Mountains were using less covert methods than the Company had, it would take them roughly about seven months of travel rather than the nine months it had taken them. They had started travelling shortly after the final battle, which would left about five more months until the first groups arrived.

Bilbo was more than a little nervous about this. So many new people and the inability to see faces to recognize them, it made him a little sick to his stomach. But the Company was so happy to have their families on their way home that Bilbo couldn’t begrudge them. Glóin and Bombur in particular were quite vocal about their wives and children coming to the mountain after so long a separation. Bilbo had sat with Bombur just the other day, discovering that the dwarf had six children ranging from 45 down to 7 years of age. Bombur had been helping Bilbo with ideas on eating and figuring out what could and could not work with being blind. 

For example, it had been Bombur that had come up with the idea of using his plate much like a sundial, giving times for the appropriate locations of each type of food. The Company cook had been determined to take care of all the culinary needs of the Company and had been seen haggling prices left, right and center with the local hunter and gatherers. Bombur had been getting his supplies from the men and elves that had taken up stations within the mountain until the weather warmed up. Both had been instrumental in the continued survival of them all, men and dwarrow included. King Thranduil particular seemed to be eager to provide food for the men and dwarrows.

Personally, Bilbo believed that this was his way to atone for breaking the alliance he’d had with the dwarves of Erebor so long ago. Granted, he kept this thought to himself, all things considered. From the sounds of Thorin’s grumblings and groanings about the elven king, it seemed they still bickered viciously. Bard apparently kept them in line and on task, and with his input, Thranduil had seemingly gone above and beyond what was required, prompting Bilbo’s thoughts about his generosity.

Not that this made Thorin any more gracious.

“Will your mother be coming with the caravans this time?” Bilbo asked softly, taking a drink of the weak chamomile tea.

His stomach had been upset for most of the day, as he still hadn’t fully recovered his appetite from his long sleep.

“Oh yes,” Fíli said, and Bilbo could hear the smile in his voice. “Amad will be leading the first groups from the caravans into Erebor. We’ve been trading raven’s over the weeks of their journey and all is well so far with her. Since the battle, the roads seem to be clearer now than they ever have been.”

“You must be excited to see her after so long.”

“I can’t wait to see her talk to uncle!” Kíli said with an evil cackle.

“Oh?”

“It should be interesting nonetheless.” Fíli said. “We are not unscathed from the battle, and she did threaten him with dire consequences if we came back with so much as a scratch on us.”

“Oh dear.”

“Amad is very excited to meet you though,” Kíli said slyly. “We’ve been telling her all about you in our letters and ravens.”

“Oh dear. What have you been saying about me now?” Bilbo said with a groan.

“Nothing bad, I promise Bilbo!” Kíli said. “Just about how you saved us from the trolls-“

“And don’t forget the fact that you faced down Azog-“

“And tried to prevent a multinational war-“

“And tried to tell us about the trap at Raven hill-“

“And how you have Uncle wrapped around your little finger!” Kíli crowed triumphantly.

“I do not!” Bilbo cried out, feeling a blush stain his cheeks.

“You do too!” Both boys crowed happily at the same time.

“If you asked for anything, anything in his power to give you, he would do it within a heartbeat, Bilbo,” Fíli said after their bout of laughter. “Simply because you asked. Surely you must realize that he spends almost all of his free time with you, making certain that you are comfortable and that you need for nothing. He would not do this for just anyone.”

“Perhaps he feels guilty that the final battle took my sight and is trying to make up for the lack?” Bilbo argued back, folding his arms over his chest and frowning.

Two slightly disgusted sighs were his answer and they didn’t bother trying to argue with him again. Feeling accomplished, for whatever ridiculous reason, Bilbo relaxed against his mound of pillows. He had spent a good amount of time sleeping still, Óin believing that his body was still struggling to overcome his injuries.

The Company healer had been appalled at the state of the hobbit’s body as well; the protruding ribs and concave stomach a testament to the lack of nourishing meals. Gandalf had since informed them, rather belatedly mind, of the reason why hobbits ate so many meals, and going down to just two meals a day was essentially starvation. Bombur in particular had taken this news very hard, and had worked with Óin to create as many small, nourishing meals as they could devise that would also be light enough on the hobbit’s sensitive stomach.

“Bilbo, is there anything in particular you might want to use or do for the duration of your bed rest?” Fíli asked.

“Hmm…” Bilbo thought about this question. “I would like to write a letter to the Thane of the Shire. If I’m to stay here in Erebor I’d like my things here. I might not be able to read my books, but perhaps I can have them read to me. It would be good to notify the Thane about my continued survival and what to do with Bag End. I have a cousin, Drogo Baggins, I could leave it to.”

“Would you like us to read to you, Bilbo?” Kíli asked after a long hesitation. “Oh, oh you could dictate your letters to us! We can send them with one of the ravens! That way, when Gandalf arrives in the Shire, all of your things could be ready to come back!”

Bilbo could almost feel Kíli bouncing in his seat. He chuckled at the mental visualization.

“Sure you could!” Fíli said with a considering tone. “I’m sure Balin or Ori has some parchment.”

“That’s a marvelous idea, boys but I don’t want to take up your time any more than I already have,” Bilbo said, holding his hands out to stop them from talking when they made noises as if to interrupt. “I know that you already take too much time out of your days and duties to sit with me like you all do. I don’t want-“ Bilbo broke himself off of the train of thought he had, a part of him ashamed that he felt the way that he did.

“What don’t you want, Bilbo?” Fíli asked after a moment, his voice soft and tender in a way that made Bilbo want to both grit his teeth, and sob his heart out.

“Tell us, Mister Boggins.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you both. I’m so very glad that you’re both okay. When your uncle told me that the eagles had picked up your bodies…”

Bilbo was slightly appalled at the wobble in his voice at the memory. He’d felt such horror and grief at the thought of these two bright boys being gone from the world. Witnessing Fíli’s fall from the battlements after being captured by Azog had been horrifying. He’d thought for certain that the Pale Orc would have stabbed the prince through, but at the last minute, Fíli had managed to dodge and escape that fate. In the process of escaping that fate, however, he had been dropped from that great height which had caused the grievous injury to his skull.

Bilbo’s breath hitched in his chest as the sight of Fíli lying so limp and still on the ground after his fall filled his mind. He raised a hand and fisted it in his shirt to still the trembling of his hands. He heard the sound of footsteps on stone before the bed on either side of him dipped.

“Bilbo…we’re alright. You know this. Kíli and I survived the battle.” Fíli’s voice on his left was soft and gentle, his hand firm as he guided Bilbo’s hand away from his shirt. “See? I’m right here, holding your hand.”

“Óin and the healers Dain brought with him are working on a prosthetic leg for me, so I’ll be just fine.” Kíli was just as tender on his right, taking Bilbo’s right hand and squeezing gently.

“It could have gone all wrong and-“

“But it didn’t. You saved us, Bilbo Baggins. We would never have survived the battle if it hadn’t been for your bargaining with the Arkenstone. We owe you our lives.” Fíli said solemnly.

“But-“

“But nothing! We’re not spending time with you because we owe you, either. We’re spending time with you because we want to. When have you known us to do anything we don’t want to?” Kíli said happily.

Bilbo laughed through the guilty tears that had filled his eyes. These boys never failed to make him laugh, despite the remorse he felt about the current situation at large. They, along with their cantankerous uncle, were slowly giving him hope as the days moved on. When his spirits flagged and he felt downtrodden, these two boys knew just the right things to say to make him laugh, and their uncle could make him feel useful and that his thoughts contributed to the continued success of Erebor. Bilbo sniffled and squeezed Fíli and Kíli's hands.

"So tell me, have you ridden your cousin's battle boar yet?"


	4. Chapter 4

For once, Bilbo wasn’t sitting in bed. Instead, he was slowly making his way along the hallway outside of his rooms. On his left side walked Bífur, holding his hand tightly in his smaller one. The Dwarf was moving at a slow and steady speed. The axe ridden dwarf didn’t rush him, or make Bilbo feel as if he were inconveniencing the other male. Instead, Bífur simply hummed a little song under his breath and seemed to enjoy their time together.

Not to say that the others had made him feel like a burden. Hardly. Bífur didn’t pressure him, didn’t make him feel as if he were made of delicate glass on the brink of shattering. When he thought about that though, Bilbo couldn’t help but feel more than a tad ungrateful. His friends were trying their hardest to deal with the fact that their Master Burglar would never see again. He felt stifled, despite all intents and purposes.

Today had been a difficult day, emotionally. Thorin and the boys were in meetings with Dain, Bard and Thranduil – discussing sentry duties for the next week. Thorin didn’t want to accept help for sentry duty from Thranduil, but Bard and Dain felt that it was in everyone’s best interest to have a mixed company of each nation for the time being. The rest of Dain’s forces were working with Bofur and Gloín clearing out more rooms on the lower levels. Nori was hunting up supplies for the infirmary, Ori, Balin and Dwalin were sitting in the meeting with Thranduil, Dain and Bard.

They had just left Óin in the infirmary with Thranduil’s head healer Mordollwen. Mordollwen was a quiet, gentle soul, but Eru could she bicker with Óin. Fíli delighted in egging the two healers on and cackled evilly with each snipe between the two of them. Bofur had sat with Bilbo and had told him what Mordollwen looked like. She was tall and lean, like most elves, and had (according to Bofur) dirt brown hair and hazel eyes. Kíli had had a more positive description of the elvish healer, but then no other being could measure up in attractive attributes like his Tauriel.

In any case, the healers had recommended that Bilbo not push himself too hard to jump back into moving around. Óin had decided that Bilbo’s diet could use some changing up, asking for more vegetables and Bilbo had cheered wildly at the knowledge that the bland diet could slowly be whittled away. Bífur had chuckled at him, patting him on the head affectionately. The bad news was that he would have to keep the cast on for at least four more weeks. Surprisingly enough however Mordollwen and Óin, while bickering like an old married couple over their favorite fauntling, were in agreement that someone still stay with him at all times.

This had made Bilbo’s mood plummet. He felt coddled and stifled, not that he’d really raise a stink about it. He worried that if they did leave him alone at all hours, then all he’d do was brood. He felt disconnected from the world around him, and yet he didn’t want to be far away from safety. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t at this point.

“Do you need to rest, Master Baggins?” Tauriel asked from his right.

“Not yet.” Bilbo said with a smile that was only slightly strained at the edges. “And it’s Bilbo, Tauriel.”

“Just let us know when you need to, and we will rest.” Tauriel said, laughing at the dour look that Bilbo gave her.

Bífur grumbled something and patted Bilbo’s hand that was resting on his arm. They had no translator, but Bilbo had learned over the course of their journey together that the tone that Bífur used was fond and concerned and not vicious and life-threatening like it sounded to outsiders. Bilbo felt a pang of sadness that he couldn’t actually _see_ his friend’s Iglishmêk, as the other, Bofur and Bombur had been teaching him a good portion on their journey to the mountain.

“I wanted to thank you, Bilbo Baggins.” Tauriel said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh? What have I done now?”

“You saved Kíli, his brother and his uncle. I am beyond grateful that your warning came to them.”

“There wasn’t much saving from me involved though.”

“But there was, truly, Master Baggins. You were instrumental in the battle, in getting all of our nations to fight side by side. If you had merely stepped aside and done nothing, let them fight amongst themselves, I fear the line of Durin would have been lost.” Tauriel took a deep breath, and Bilbo could detect a quaver in her voice that she hadn’t managed to suppress. “I am most indebted to you that you were there.”

“Please, don’t.” Bilbo stopped their walk, reaching to his right side and groping for her hand. When he finally clasped the soft hand in his, he squeezed it tenderly. “Never thank me for that. I would have done anything for those boys, anything. That we could have lost them still weighs on my mind at night. You owe me nothing, nothing at all.”

“I owe you something fierce and precious, Master Baggins.” Tauriel argued back, lacing their fingers together. “I owe you the love of my life.”

“The love of yo- Oh my.”

“Indeed. I love Kíli more passionately than I ever believed possible to love another singular being. When I thought him dead, I despaired beyond mere grief. It consumed me. All I could think was how was I supposed to continue on, eking out a mere existence without him there beside me? But when I saw the rise and fall of his chest, his continued beating heart, I knew that he yet lived.” Tauriel said solemnly. “I can never thank you enough, for what you’ve done. 

“It matters not whether you believe you had this impact on our lives, what matters is that you understand the depth of the gratefulness that we feel.”

Bilbo stuttered in shock, feeling the burning blush on his cheeks like wildfire. He didn’t want anyone to feel so grateful for him doing what must be done. There had been no other choice in his eyes, his precious people meant the world to him and he would do it again in a heartbeat, sight be damned.

“You are a singularly brave being, Bilbo Baggins. I am honored to know you. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.” Tauriel said, laughing as the hobbit continued to splutter in embarrassment.

“I’d rather not have anyone beholden to me at all.” Bilbo muttered, but alas the ears of elves were keen indeed.

“That may be so, but it does not change those that are beholden to you in their heart of hearts.”

“There’s no arguing with you, is there?”

“Sadly, no.”

“I bet Kíli argues with you.”

Tauriel laughed brightly and stood, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I even let him win.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Came Kíli’s voice from somewhere in front of them.

“It seems as if you are well and truly whipped, dear brother.” Fíli teased, laughing with Tauriel at the youngest Durin’s spluttering.

“Is the meeting over already?” Bilbo asked, looking in the direction of Fíli and Kíli.

“It is, Master Burglar. It seems your idea to mix ranks and races has worked out splendidly.”

“Now Uncle, there’s no need to sound so sour about it. It just means that we ought to listen to our burglar more often is all.” Fíli said with a laugh.

There was discontented muttering and Bilbo smiled as he pictured the scene in his mind. He could almost feel the pout that the King wore on his lips, arms folded over his chest and grumbling. It was times like this where the loss of his vision was keen and sharp.

“Bilbo, Uncle has decided to gift you a raven of your own!” Kíli said delightedly, the sounds of three sets of dwarven footsteps coming closer to where the hobbit stood with his dwarrow and elven guard. “Roäc has agreed to gift the raven with the best grasp on Westron so that your letters and replies could be given promptly.”

“Indeed,” Thorin said in his rumbling baritone. “His granddaughter Noäc is fluent with Westron and has asked to volunteer for the honor of bearing your letters to the Shire and whomever you desire.”

“That’s wonderful!” Bilbo said happily, laughing in delight. “Oh I’ve so many stories I want to share with Drogo and Primula, I’ve to let the Thane know about Gandalf coming to pick up my things and sort my affairs. Oh this is truly wonderful!”

“If I had known if would mean so much to you, I wouldn’t have made you wait so long for contact with your family.” Thorin said softly.

“You had other pressing concerns than my desire to gossip with my family. You’re King Under the Mountain, things must have a priority.” Bilbo said soothingly.

“Perhaps, but perhaps you do not value yourself a high enough priority than the rest of us do.”

“Oh not this again.” Bilbo said huffily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tauriel and I just had this conversation on the matter.”

“Perhaps it bears repeating until you believe it.” Thorin bickered back, sounding rather frustrated.

“You are already doing all you can to make certain I am as comfortable as possible while I wait for my belongings. I am quite content. Truly, Thorin.”

There was a pregnant pause and the youngsters of the line of Durin giggled fit to burst. 

“What?” Bilbo asked in confusion.

“You will let me know if you require anything else, Master Burglar,” Thorin said, changing the subject neatly. “Even if you believe it to be of no consequence, I want to know.”

“Truly-“

“Unless you’re about to agree with him, Bilbo, I wouldn’t bother. He has his stubborn face on.” Kíli said with a despairing sigh.

“Is that anything like his usual face?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“Pretty close. More frowny lines between his eyebrows and his eyes are squinting a little bit more.”

“I’m certain it’s imposing. I’ll pretend I can see it and bow out gracefully.” Bilbo said with a laugh.

“It is rather frightening, Uncle. Did you practice it a lot before you perfected it –ACK!” Kíli teased, followed by the sound of a smack.

“No abusing the nephews, King Under the Mountain.” Bilbo scolded, shaking his finger in the general direction of where he thought Thorin would be. “Now, I am getting tired, and I’d like to be lead back to my rooms please.”

“I will take you,” Thorin said, and a hand grasped his elbow gently. “Bifur’s cousins are looking for him, and I’m sure Fíli and Kíli can occupy themselves with their…elven friend here.”

“Behave Thorin. Tauriel is a friend now, she should be treated with respect.” Bilbo said softly.

There was another pregnant pause before Thorin spoke.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Tauriel. It may take me a little longer to become used to your presence. Thank you for escorting Master Baggins to his appointment and keeping him company.”

“It was no hardship, King Thorin. If you need my assistance again, do not hesitate to ask for it. I would be happy to sit with Bilbo,” Tauriel said with a noticeable smile in her voice.

“Perhaps you can help me with my accent with Sindarin!” Bilbo said happily.

“I would be delighted to,” Tauriel said, and then Thorin was walking Bilbo back to his rooms.

His hand was warm and constant at his elbow and Bilbo didn’t bother to ignore the warmth that blossomed in his chest at the realization that his dear friend was taking care of him. Perhaps…just perhaps those devious boys might have given him hope for more.

And perhaps, Tauriel’s talk of bravery would do some good. Perhaps he could be brave enough to reach for what he wanted. One day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiliel centric.

“Psst…Tauriel!” 

The red haired elf paused in her trek across the main entryway to the Lonely Mountain, her green captains’ uniform splattered in snow and thick dirt. Winter had hit the Lonely Mountain and surrounding areas hard, with gale force winds and a blizzard that covered the once battlefield in ice and snow as far as the eye could see. It made patrolling the area of Erebor, Dale and the boarders of Mirkwood difficult. There was a large force of elvish warriors and hunters that had been put in an outpost in Erebor that Tauriel was in charge of. They aided the dwarves of Erebor in patrols, healing, and helping to put rooms together for the coming influx of dwarves from the Blue Mountains.

Tauriel had just gotten back from her latest patrol, and was looking around for the face belonging to the beloved voice.

“Kíli?” She called, turning to the left and walking towards an area of darkened corridors. “I thought you were with Master Baggins?”

“How many times has he told you to call him Bilbo, love?” Kíli’s voice was giddy in its impish delight, drawing an unwilling smile to her lips.

“At least once more,” She snarked back, “I only made the mistake once and your Uncle’s glower could have felled me.”

“He’s just possessive that way, he meant no harm.”

Stepping into the darkness, Tauriel searched the gloom for Kíli’s face.

“You say that now,” Tauriel chuckled. “You haven’t been watching his glowers whenever Bard interrupts our King’s bickering.”

“He does like his battle with Thranduil, I’ll give you that.” 

“Why are you leading me down an unused corridor, Kíli?” Tauriel asked, stopping mid stride and folding her arms across her chest, scowling into the darkness and still not finding the irksome dwarf.

“Not for naughty reasons, I promise.” Kíli’s yelp was hardly convincing. “Well, mostly not for naughty reasons.”

“Kíli…”

“Just trust me! You’ll like it.” Kíli wheedled, and Tauriel sighed with a great gust of air.

“Fine then. You could at least come out where I can see you.”

“You mean your elf eyes can’t see me in the dark? Huh…guess that means I owe Fíli ten silver.”

“Kíli!”

“Alright, alright, hold your bowstring already. Here.” Tauriel’s left hand was clasped in Kíli’s gentle grip and she was tugged down the corridor. “I found this place last week. I wanted to take you there right away, but then that skirmish happened and Thorin grounded me-“

“I highly doubt he grounded you, Kíli. He put you on watch for a week, that’s all.”

“That’s what I said, he grounded me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“But you love me. You said so. I heard you. I can’t unhear your words of adoration.”

“And I suppose you’re right. How long were you standing there anyways?”

“That’s not the point. You said you loved me.”

“It’s quickly falling under the past tense the longer we trek through your infernal mountain.”

“This mountain’s a beauty, you’ll see. Did you know Uncle’s making plans to make Bilbo a garden off of his balcony?” Kíli said excitedly.

“I heard the rumor. Do you think this is his attempt at courting Master Baggins then?”

“I don’t know yet. Fee and I swear Uncle’s in love with Bilbo, but he’s just so stubborn that it’ll take him ages to admit it. Who knows how long it’ll take for him to actually begin courting Bilbo after that?” Kíli sighed as if it were the biggest mystery he had to solve in his many years. “It’s depressing to think about it. I just want them happy.”

“I know you do, meleth. We all do. But you must let them proceed at their own pace, not at yours.”

“But they deserve to be happy now, like we are, right?” With a gentle tug, Kíli pulled her to the left, and with a “Watch your step,” they moved into a large cavernous room.

Along the wall were beautiful crystal formations, clustered in designs that appeared very familiar to her but she couldn’t place them right away. Growing out of the ground were also crystals, but they had been worked on so that they made seating and tabled. Some were crumbled and broken, littered in chunks across the floor, in varying sizes. Light was filtering in from somewhere, but Tauriel was too enraptured by the sight of so many crystals around her.

“Oh, Kíli…” She breathed, gazing around her enraptured by the glowing crystals and refracted lights dancing across what walls and flooring that weren’t covered in crystals.

“What do you think?” Kíli asked, turning around to look at her, holding both of her hands in both of his.

He had cobwebs in his hair, and his black tunic and trousers were scuffed with dust and dirt. He was the most delightful thing she’d ever seen. He even had dirt smudged on his left cheek, and it looked like he’d scraped his right hand on something rough since it was red and scraped fresh. She’d taken every day she could possibly spare to take a few moments and just stare at him. Every time she did, that raw feeling in her gut eased a bit more. The feeling had hadn’t fully left her when she’d thought him dead. The feeling that chased her out of dreams into the waking world. The feeling that chilled her deep within her soul at the thought that she could be living in a world without Kíli in it.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Look up,” Kíli said, tipping his own head up to stare at the ceiling.

Tauriel tipped her head to look at the ceiling and gaped. There, streaming down at them, were crystals imbedded within the stone. Light filtered down from them, and the shapes they made, along with the shapes made on the walls suddenly made sense. Tauriel raised her hands to cover her trembling lips as she stared at the constellations and stars that she loved so dearly.

“What…how…”

“This is the Starlight Caverns,” Kíli said softly. “I know that you’re worried about us, where we will live and what the future holds for us. I wanted to show you that I could give you the stars. If you stay here. With me. In Erebor.”

Tauriel blinked in surprise, turning to look at him. He stared up at her with those wide brown eyes, looking so endearing and wonderful that she could hardly bear it. He leaned heavily on his crutch, but looked no less wonderful than he had moments ago. Briefly, she wondered when his metal leg would be finished as she knew the smiths were working hard on it to complete it in time for the first caravans from the Blue Mountains in the next four months.

But he stood there and smiled at her and she could deny him nothing in this world, and the next.

“What exactly are you asking me, Kíli?” She asked, her heart pounding in her throat.

“I’m asking you to stay here with me. Be with me here as my wife, my partner, my love. I would not waste another moment away from you if I could help it. I am yours, Tauriel. Will you be mine?”

She had a hundred arguments suddenly spring to mind. Her king, his king, their respective peoples, the suddenness of it all – but what tumbled from her lips was a trembling, “Yes.”

Kíli’s whoop of excitement and happiness echoed in the cavernous room, and she couldn’t contain her own excitement from spilling from her in bright laughter. Kíli almost toppled over in his joy, practically bouncing around like a puppy gamboling about. He reached up, and tangling his fingers in her long, red hair, brought her down gently to meet his laughing mouth with her smiling one.

“It’s about time,” Came Prince Fíli’s voice, interrupting their kiss.

“Piss off, brother.”

“No really. You almost cost me a bet with Nori.”

Fíli stepped out from a corridor to their left, and Tauriel studied her soon to be brother-in-law. Due to the damage to the left side of his skull, it had had to be sheared to the skin from the center of his skull, to behind his left ear. The entire left side of his head was bare and covered in angry, red scars that grew fainter with each passing day. Fíli had made the passing comment about his plans to tattoo and cover the side of his skull with badges of honor and glory. While the idea of tattooing skin gave her pause, she imagined that it would give him some sort of closure to the battle.

She knew that he still battled fatigue and frequent migraines from the injury.

“So you bet on my continued happiness?”

“Hardly. I bet that you’d finally ask her to marry you within the fortnight.” Fíli said with a happy smile.

She returned the grin with one of her own and he chuckled.

“I welcome you to the house of Durin, Tauriel of Mirkwood.” Fíli said with a teasing smile. “Mother will be thrilled.”

“Oh dear.” The idea of having a mother-in-law was daunting, especially from what she had heard of the princess.

“Don’t worry.” Kíli said with a wide smile, squeezing her hand gently. “She may be harder to impress than Uncle, but she doesn’t hold onto the ancient grudges like he does. Besides, you make me happy. And that is all that Mother would want.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schmoop. And look! The thing of awesome that is maura-labigni drew something for me! Behold the Awesome

The world around them spun onwards, and while Thorin wished heartily that it would slow so he could take a breath, he was thankful that his mountain was his again, that his displaced people had a home that would flourish under their hardworking hands again. He heard laughter from Dain’s dwarves within his halls, music on the air during mealtimes again and the happy hum of belonging practically vibrated up from his boots with each step he took.

The only problem was, he could not focus on his joyous triumph after so long adrift in the world of Men. The sight of the pale and weakened Bilbo Baggins had ripped the warmth from his hands, knowing that when the hobbit woke from his coma he would more than likely still be blind from the wound to his head and that it was all his fault…  


He had put his hobbit in such perils, without thought to the consequences. 

The sight of him so pale on the furs of the hospital tent, and later the furs of the rooms he’d unofficially ‘gifted’ to the hobbit, still made his heart stutter in his chest. His burlgar’s eyes were shadowed, his brows creased in pain even as he slept on in his coma. Thorin had helped Óin set Bilbo’s arm and hand, both of them broken and splintered from the orc’s heavy feet trodding upon them. The sight of Bilbo’s face covered in blood from the wound to his head, the blood dripping from his ears and nose had been a sight that Thorin never wanted to repeat again.

He feared the worst; that the sassy mouth that poked and prodded at him with no fear of reprisals would never open to tease him again. Thorin feared, that if Bilbo were to pass into the embrace of his Green Lady, that Thorin wouldn’t be able to continue on and would pass on to the halls of his forefathers.

Despite the demands on his attention from his newly reclaimed kingdom, Thorin found more than enough time to escape the blasted meetings and tend to his hobbit, though the hobbit did not know it. He had sworn Óin to secrecy, and the rest of the Company had taken the rather obvious hint and kept the knowledge that Thorin had only left the Burglar’s bedside when it was absolutely necessary to themselves. He’d left the bathing to Óin, but he read to the hobbit, spoke to him about the trouble the Princes were getting up to, how Bombur missed his cooking companion, how Bofur worked himself to the bone in order to not think about his dear friend lying up in his bed with such a grievous wound to the head, how…

How much he missed his burglar.

Having the sassy burglar on this fool’s quest had been a trial of patience and an endurance of the heart. Thorin had realized soon after Rivendell that his irrational possessiveness towards Bilbo had gone from an uncomfortable awe and esteem to having fallen in love with the other male. He had no knowledge of when this particular shift in realities occurred, but he did remember the feeling of Bilbo’s hand in his as they walked the treacherous trail of Mirkwood together, the sight of sunlight on Bilbo’s copper curls sending a shaft of gut wrenching craving to stroke the curling, lengthening strands. 

When they finally stepped into Erebor and he sank beneath the staggering weight of Gold Sickness, the desire to protect Bilbo had shifted to the desire to hoard the hobbit away. The insidious sickness had damned near taken everything from him; his home; his love; his life. How he wished he had no memory of dangling Bilbo over the parapets of Erebor, how he wished with all his cowardly heart that the Gold Sickness clouded his memory and made his actions be without thought process and senseless.

But he did remember those things, he remembered everything he did and said under the influence of the blasted gold, and worst of all was the fact that even now, months after the event in question, he could still see how his mind had arrived at the conclusions that it had. While now he had the curse of hindsight and knowledge that his actions _could_ be excused under the effects of Gold Sickness, he knew that he, personally, _would never_ excuse or forgive himself for them.

He would spend the rest of his life atoning for his misdeeds. To Fíli. To Kíli. To Dwalin and Balin.

To Bilbo.

So now he walked, trudging through the halls of Erebor, searching for his errant Company. The meetings with Dain, Bard and that blasted Thranduil had taken most of his patience for the day, and he had a blasted headache pounding behind his eyes from all of the demands and sneers from the Elvenking. Even Bard had given the blonde elf a few disapproving looks, which had worked for a short while on the hoity elf.

_Elves_ …

The bright sound of Bilbo’s laughter echoed down the hallway in front of him and pulled a reluctant smile on his lips. He could hear the singing of Bofur and Ori, Fíli and Kíli cheering loudly and the rest of the Company talking and singing along as well. Stepping into the what had been termed ‘The Gathering Place’ by the Company, had really been the Royal Receiving Room. Once upon a time, the entire Royal Family lived within the Royal Wing, and the Receiving Room had been where other dignitaries could meet and greet in privacy without the trappings of politics.

Where a dwarf could be a dwarf, an elf an elf, and a man a man.

Those days were long gone, lost in the ashes of time.

Now, each of those loyal dwarves had apartments within the Royal Wing which had been untouched by Smaug’s rampage and subsequent inhabitation of Erebor. The statement he made about the Company and their place in Thorin’s affections was obvious.

The statement he made about Bilbo’s placement in the Queens Suite was even more blatant.

The Gathering Place was full of wide, warm fireplaces, the stone floors covered by thick rugs and furs. The walls themselves were heated from the hot water pipes that were contained within the wall panels, running underneath the floors as well in order to promote heat within the depths of the mountain. Large plush chairs once sat in the rooms, but they had been covered with dust and dank from the mountain being uninhabited by beings other than Smaug. Now most of them had been covered with furs from the hunting party’s quarries, and the murals on the walls had been dusted and cleaned extensively by Ori whenever he could spare the time from the Great Library. Huge knitted afghans and blankets also covered the bare bones of the chairs, a testament to Ori and Dori’s desire to make the Gathering Place a homey atmosphere.

Fíli and Kíli stood with their backs to the blazing fire of the main fireplace, Kíli’s fiddle singing sweetly to the warm air a jaunty tune that many of the Company sang along to; Fíli having unearthed a lute from somewhere to play along with. Kíli’s betrothed, Tauriel, sang along, learning the words for the female portion of the song. Thorin stared at the sweet smiles traded between his youngest sister-son and his elf maiden. Though it galled him to admit it, the elf was good for Kíli. She made him sharper, more focused.

And if Thorin could love a hobbit, Kíli could most definitely love an elf.

Ugh… _elves…_

The song they were teaching her was a duet they’d learned in their travels, the man professing his love for a maiden and offering her words and golden rings, telling of the toil and strife he would go to claim her love, while the maiden set his heart at ease with lasting love and affectionate words as they planned their future wedding.

Bilbo’s blind eyes danced with laughter and joy as he hummed along, swaying in his seat to the music. His copper curls were much longer now, lying on the nape of his neck and his cheeks with surprisingly springy curls. Thorin’s fingertips itched with the impulse to rub those curls between them, the remembered sensation of his taking such liberties with his hobbit making him a tad breathless. The hobbit’s cheeks were flushed with his smile and his laughter, giving him an ethereal glow that would stay with Thorin until the end of his days. While most of the Company had their clothes covered in dirt and dust from working, Bilbo’s clothes were mostly clean, and the deep blue of his tunic making his hazel eyes look almost gold in the firelight.

“Uncle!!” Kíli called out happily, waving his fiddle bow at him. 

“Thorin?” Bilbo called out, his head turning in the opposite direction of where Thorin stood, staring at him with heated eyes.

“Come sing the song with Bilbo!” Fíli said with a smug smile in his Uncle’s direction. “We can’t get that low.”

“Wha…I…” Thorin stammered, shocked at the request and then he scowled at his mischievous nephews who stared at him with far too knowing of looks.

Mahal, the whole Company gave him the knowing look. So he shared the scowl with all of them, much to their amusement.

“And dance with me.” Bilbo said, climbing to his feet, turning in a complete circle in an effort to locate Thorin.

“Have you been drinking?” Thorin asked incredulously, before squinting at his hobbit. “Mahal, you’ve been drinking!”

“So?” Bilbo said with a sweet smile on his lips. “Óin said I could have a drink with supper this evening. Come sing and dance with me!”

“But-“

“Now!”

“Two silver on the hobbit.” Dwalin, the traitor, smirked knowingly at his King.

“Seems the drink makes Bilbo rather demanding,” Bofur chuckled. “I’d not ignore the royal command if I were you.”

So helpful was his faithful Company.

“How do you propose we dance, Master Burglar?” Thorin grumped as he plodded his way to his hobbit. “I’m liable to tread on your precious toes, you know.”

“I think a King would have far more class than to stomp on a poor hobbit’s toes, precious or otherwise.” Bilbo sassed, reaching out with one hand.

Thorin didn’t let his little love flounder. With a gentle glide of fingers to palms, he laced their hands together and ignored the shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine at the sweet sensation. They were a physically expressive race, but hands were particularly sacred to them. They were the tools that Mahal gave them to forge their crafts in his name, to clasp hands with another dwarf was to invite speculation of your intentions towards that dwarf. 

Other than placing Bilbo within the Queens Suite, this was declaring to all of those important to him what he intended for his hobbit.

“So how do you propose we remedy this situation?”

“I’ll stand on your boots,” Bilbo said with a cheeky smile, placing his feet on the top of Thorin’s boots. “Like this.”

This brought their body’s closer together, the gentle weight of the hobbit practically nothing as Bilbo had lost a great deal of weight from his coma. Thorin’s left hand that was joined with Bilbo’s moved to rest on Bilbo’s right hip. Bilbo’s hand left Thorin’s left, and came up to rest on Thorin’s shoulder.

Their other hands were still gently clasped together sweetly. Thorin was unable to resist the urge to brush his thumb over the hobbit’s thumb joint.

“And now…we dance.” Bilbo giggled up at him, his cheeks pleasantly flushed with drink and what Thorin hoped was pleasure.

And though Bilbo couldn’t see it, Thorin was certain that he could hear the smile within Thorin’s voice as he sang with Bilbo, as they danced together.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters to the Shire

_Gerontius Took  
Thane of the Shire_

_Hello, Grandfather. I hope this missive finds you well. How did the Garden Party turn out this year? I do hope those blasted Sackville-Bagginses didn’t make the top five again. They were quite insufferable last year when they broke through the barrier. I still think that Barnabus Brandybuck was intoxicated beyond belief to think that Lobelia’s pumpkins were better than Primula’s._

_Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I can cut to the thick of it. I’m not certain what you might have heard or what news has managed to reach the Shire, but I am very much alive. The adventure I went on was harrowing and dangerous, and while I did almost die, I did survive. But not entirely intact. During the Battle of the Five Armies (You should have seen it, Grandfather. Men, Elves, Dwarrow, the Great Eagles and even a skin changer named Beorn fighting against this massive army of Orcs and goblins! I’m honestly surprised that we did not have more casualties than we did) I took a blow to the head which rendered me unconscious. When I awoke, I discovered that I had lost my sight.  
Óin, the dwarrow healer that was in my Company, does not believe that I will ever regain the vision that I have lost. Thorin Oakenshield, the King of Erebor, has generously offered me safety and a place of residence within the Lonely Mountain. I am well taken care of, and yes Grandfather, I am happy. Well, as happy as one can be with such a massive change of circumstances._

_I’m writing to ask that my effects be taken in order. Gandalf the Gray, your old friend and now I daresay he’s a friend of mine as well, will be arriving in the Shire soon. He’s generously offered to take my belongings with him when he returns to Erebor. His goal is to pack up with the second caravan of Dwarves from the Blue Mountains as the first caravan has no doubt already passed through our boarders on their way home._

_As for Bag End, I’ll ask that it be kept in trust until such a time as my cousin Frodo Baggins comes of age to inherit the title of the head of the family of Baggins. In no way shape or form is Bag End to fall into the hands of the Sackville-Baggins and they are to inherit nothing from my estate upon my death or lack of presence within the Shire. I do not claim them as kin._

_The Raven that is delivering this missive has standing orders to visit some of my relatives, and is fluent in Westron (or at least mostly fluent, please excuse her choice of poor language – I blame the Men of Esgaroth for her filthy tongue, but she is quite the conversationalist and quite the companion I’ve discovered) and will carry paper missives as well as verbal messages. Her name is Noâk._

_Also, I’ve been asked to impart a request for those hobbits who might be feeling up to a (safer) adventure like the one I was one. With so many of the orcs and goblins decimated with the Battle of the Five Armies, many of the roads and trails leading from the Shire to Erebor are clearer than they have been in ages. Thorin has asked me to request those hobbits who feel the pull of adventure to travel with the caravans of dwarves leaving the Blue Mountains to Erebor. It seems they’re in dire need of help growing crops and stabilizing the turf around the mountain now that the dragon is gone. I know a few Tooks who might be up to it, and I was wondering if you might ask Hamfast Gamgee if he might be interested in the challenge of a dragon scorched garden._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Bilbo Baggins  
Hobbit of Erebor_

__~@~

Three Weeks Later  
 __

_Bilbo Baggins_  
 _Hobbit of Erebor_  
 _Errant Grandson of the Great Gerontius Took_

_Young man. You will sit down right this moment and tell me exactly what has happened to you on this ‘adventure’ my old friend dragged you on. Oh, I’ve little doubt in my mind about who really decided on you taking off out of the blue to go on an adventure with dwarrow to rescue their mountain._

_Yes, I know about Erebor. Even we Hobbits are not so removed from the world so as to not know of that tragic story. And while my heart bled for them, when we heard they had settled so close to our boarders, we heard not a peep of a request for aid or else we would have sent it. Council of Elders be damned._

_Back to the point. I want to know exactly what has taken place on your adventure, what injuries you have sustained, and your plans for the future. I know you, Bilbo Baggins. You are not a hobbit to lounge about for very long. You will want to contribute in some way to the Kingdom of Erebor. Is that what your plan is for the hobbits in your request?_  


_Don’t take me for being so addled with age I can’t see your fingerprints on that idea, my lad. It’s a grand idea, to be frank. When I presented the idea in Tuckborrow, it was met with great consideration. I imagine that as time goes on, until the specified date, more and more hobbits might be interested in their own adventure, not just us Tooks._  


_When asked, Hamfast Gamgee hesitated on accepting the offer, but his wife Bell has great hopes of convincing him to attempt the journey with her and their four children._   


_On the subject of children, though, I’m afraid that I’ve news for you. Please brace yourself lad, as it’s poor news indeed._

_Your cousin Drogo Baggins and his wife Primula passed away just weeks ago. It was a boating accident, my lad. It was a mild day, one of the last of the season, and their bodies were found some distance away from their capsized boat. I’m sorry, my lad._

_That being said, there is some contention about what to do with their son, Frodo. As you know, he’s just barely five summers old, and now it seems he’s the heir of the Baggins’ estate. Currently, he’s staying with the Brandybucks in their hall, but there are so many children there that he is easily overlooked. Your…er…’not-kin’, the Sackville-Bagginses have offered to take care of him, however in their will, Drogo and Primula stipulated that they wanted you to care for him in the event of their deaths. I understand, with your current circumstances, that you might not feel up to the task of taking care of a mourning fauntling._

_But Bilbo, my lad. He needs you quite desperately._

_I propose a solution to this quandary. When Gandalf arrives for your things, with the caravans of dwarrow passing through our boarders for protection, and if Hamfast Gamgee can be convinced to uproot his family for Erebor, we send little Frodo along with the caravan. He’ll be well protected with the dwarrow guards, Gandalf will be there as well, and he will be with hobbits that he knows and trusts._

_I’m sorry to throw this at you, lad. Frodo is a gem of a fauntling, though, content with books and stories much like you were as a child. I fear that if he stays with the Brandybucks he will always be overshadowed by their more boisterous ways, and if he goes to the Sackville-Bagginses he will be taken advantage of for his inheritance. He needs you, Bilbo._

_I have every faith in you._

_Sincerely,_

_Gerontius Took  
Thane of the Shire_

_P.S. Please tell Thorin Oakenshield that his sister, Lady Dís of Erebor, is a force of nature and will not be dissuaded from waiting for your reply on a plan of action. She’s quite impressive in her desire to protect little Frodo, and refuses to budge until a decision is made regarding his fostering._

_She’s managed to terrify the Sackville-Bagginses into returning your spoons. If I wasn’t already married to Adamanta and was about three decades younger, I might be in love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answering Questions!
> 
>  
> 
> I originally had this locked to prevent unregistered users from reading the story, as it will eventually turn smutty and it's been my experience that unregistered users tend to also be underage. However, I was convinced to unlock it by a tumblr follower until such time as the smut happens.
> 
> Fanart! I love fanart and would feel blessed and tickled pink if someone were to do fanartses. 
> 
> And oh look, Frodo! I love little Frodo.
> 
> Other stories. Those stories that are marked with Hiatus January 2015 mean that was when the official hiatus began. Those stories not marked are still being worked on as long as the muse stays with me. I write what comes, and try not to force it. If you like what I've written and want to write something inspired by one of my stories, link it to me so I can read it too! It's terribly flattering. Just don't blatantly plagiarize.
> 
> Beta reader? Don't have one.
> 
> Follow my on tumblr too cuz I'm always on it and getting inspiration. If you've got a head!canon for this story, share it with me and I'll see about writing it to fit with the plot I've got going in my head and notes.
> 
> Fanfiction.net. I do not and will not have any stories posted on fanfiction.net. I had one HP story there once, but unfortunately they burned me pretty good. If you see any of my stories on that website let me know immediately (Thank you Kelly for letting me know about Grievous Misconceptions) so I can take appropriate action if any. 
> 
> And on with the show! Next? We'll visit the Shire and see lil' Frodo and Dís and hear things from their point of view.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lovely Lady Dís and our favorite fauntlings.

_The Shire_

 

It was mid-day when she stepped outside of her rooms at the Green Dragon. She knew she struck an impressive figure, being a female dwarf of royal lineage, but these hobbits didn’t seem to care about lineages and royalty. So she felt far more relaxed here within the borders of the Shire than she had in a very long time.

Her long dark brown hair had red highlights in the curls and braids, catching the light of the noonday sun and making the brown strands appear auburn. She had a single thick braid running down the center of her head, keeping the sides loose and free to fall to the middle of her back. She had her mother’s nose, smaller than most other dwarrow, though not as small as her son Kíli’s. Her beard was shorn for the most part, emulating her brother’s habit of keeping his beard short until the Lonely Mountain could be reclaimed. The only gems and jewels within her beard hung from two braids that were braided to commemorate the births of her sons, one on either side of her rounded chin. She kept the rest of her beard short, and had no hair on her upper lip and cheeks.

Her eyes were heavy lidded, and wide, always searching and gathering information that would help her people survive. While her brother, Thorin and eldest son Fíli had inherited the Durin Blue eyes, Dís had more of a blue topaz tone – clear and icy. She had a scar crossing the bridge of her nose that had come very close to costing her her eyes when the injury occurred, and she had tattooed under it a simple braid of blue.

Her clothes were simple, and typical of the dwarrow female traveling. Brown breaches tucked into strong armored boots, she wore several layers of traveling clothes in an effort to conceal her generous curves from Men and Elves alike (though it did little to fool the bloody pointy-eared bastards) on her top and wore chainmail to protect herself. She had dual short swords strapped to her back, having been the one to train her eldest son in them until he achieved his mastery.

Many Hobbits were leery of her. She paid it little to no mind. She was here to protect her brother’s interests, and his main interest lately was the hobbit known as Bilbo Baggins. And Bilbo Baggin’s had an heir in need of assistance. It was only right that she protect the heir of Baggins, when he had done so much to aid the heir’s of Durin.

These hobbits were strange folk, willing to stuff every dwarf in their area to the brim with food and gossip about their neighbors, but still so suspicious of outsiders. She’d never seen such a dichotomy in personalities before.

Granted, there were some of these hobbit families that were nothing but open and friendly. The Brandybucks and Tooks, for example, were friendly enough. Most Chubbs and Grubbs avoided the small contingent of dwarves staying at the Green Dragon Inn. The Gamgee’s, a small family that lived next door to where Bilbo Baggins had grown up, were hesitant, but very friendly once they grew used to you. Dís quite adored the youngest Gamgee, a serious little lad with a fierce protectiveness over the Baggins heir, by the name of Samwise. His blonde curls and wide brown eyes reminded her a little of her eldest, and it was easy to spend time with him.

For spending time with Frodo Baggins meant spending time with Samwise Gamgee, Pippin Took and Merridoc Brandybuck. He had himself his own little army of fierce protectors. A very quiet lad, Frodo had been hesitant to befriend the Lady Dís, suspicious and having grown to know his more despicable relations, she could only nod approvingly when he questioned her. Pippin just delighted in being around others, while his cousin Meriadoc was a sarcastic little thing after Dís’ own heart.

She set off down the road, passing hobbit’s left and right and nodding respectfully to them all. After all, according to Gerontius Took, the next caravan would have a number of these funny creatures traveling with them to aid them in their rebuilding efforts. They would be assisting the dwarrow of Erebor and the Men from Dale get on their feet and helping everyone to feed their families. They deserved respect for the effort.

Soon enough, she found herself in front of the Party Tree, where hobbits gathered for their fetes and celebrations. Taking out her pipe, she set about cleaning it out as she patiently waited. It wasn’t long before there was a gentle presence next to her and she didn’t need to look down to see who it was.

“Hello Master Baggins.”

A sweet giggle met her ears and she smiled. A glance at her self-appointed charge noted that his lips were smeared with chocolate, probably from some pilfered cookie – ahh, it was a cookie, she realized when the Baggins heir handed her one and nibbled on another that he pulled out of somewhere. His constant shadow, Samwise, sat on his other side, nibbling on his own liberated cookie.

“What have we here, lads?” Dís asked, taking the offered cookie and eyeing it with some trepidation. “No vegetables in it, right?”

Frodo, the wee lamb, giggled again while Samwise puffed up in indignation.

“No vegetables, Missus Dís ma’am. Not in cookies!” Samwise chirped, taking a big, chocolaty bite for emphasis.

“Good. Dwarrow and vegetables are a difficult marriage, I’m afraid. Too akin to elf food I believe.” Dís said seriously, even as her eyes laughed at the serious face Samwise wore.

“But then how do you grow big and strong?” Samwise asked innocently. “Mam always says I gots to eat my vegetables to grow big and strong so’s I can help my gaffer.”

“Ack, well I imagine that Dwarrow have different needs than hobbits. Hobbits need vegetables and fruits, perhaps, to grow. But dwarves, well.” Dís took a bite of her cookie and hummed at the sweet flavor. “We’re made of rough stone and rock.”

“Do you eat rocks?” Frodo asked guilelessly. “Is that how dwarves get big and strong?”

She glanced down at the tiny hobbitling. She’d been shocked to see the tiny size of Frodo, even smaller than most other hobbits his age, smaller than even the younger Pippin. With those dark curls and wide blue eyes, he was the prettiest little lad she’d ever seen despite the lack of dwarven characteristics that would denote beauty. The pale skin that blushed so sweetly whenever anyone paid attention to him was endearing as well.

“No, lad, we don’t eat rocks. We eat meat, and lots of it. Breads. Cheeses. Not much need for vegetables in Erebor when I lived there.”

“But then why’s my great-grandpa getting hobbits to go to Erebor with you?” Frodo asked curiously, relaxing against Dís. “We grow vegetables, not meat. Can you grow meat?”

“No lad,” Dís said, trying her damnedest not to laugh at the endearing sweetness of the boy next to her. Not when it would bruise his tender feelings. “You can’t grow meat. I imagine we’ll have to get used to vegetables for the time being until Erebor can stand on its own. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll grow to like them and grow big hairy feet like hobbits.” She said pointedly, reaching down to tickle the dark downy hair on the top of Frodo’s feet.

The little hobbitling giggled again and they sat in silence eating cookies for a while. She never rushed the hobbits to speak with her, preferring to take her time with them rather than rush them to socialize. They would talk to her when they were ready and that was that.

“Am I gunna go to Erebor with you, Missus Dís?” Came Frodo’s soft voice.

Dís looked at the hobbitling in surprise.

“I would hope so, mizimith.” 

“Wassat mean?” Came Pippin’s voice from their left.

Dís watched in amusement as the little Took tripped over nothing particular and practically ended up sprawled in Dís’ lap – just where he wanted to be. Oh this was a devious little hobbitling. She brushed aside his burnished curls and smiled down at the gap toothed little hellion.

“Mizimith means ‘little jewel’ in my tongue.” She answered, before turning her attention to the intent little Baggins heir. “That is why I am staying in the Shire until your fate is decided. Would you like to go to Erebor with me?”

Frodo frowned up at her, and she mentally cooed at the sweet look of thought over such an angelic face.

“Well. Samwise is prolly going…’nd Merry and Pippin. If I don’t go I’ll be all alone.” Frodo said mournfully.

“Now that’s not good. But you do know you have family in Erebor, right?” Dís asked curiously.

“Great-grandpa said my cousin Bilbo lives there now, cuz he can’t see his way here.” Frodo said solemnly. “I ‘member Bilbo, cuz he used to babysit me sometimes. He had lots of books. Are we gunna bring him his books too?”

“And his arm chairs, and maps and furniture. He’s practically part of the royal family now,” Dís said with a slightly smug smile. At least, she thought with a mental cackle, he would be soon. “And you too. That way, he has his family with him too. I imagine he’s rather lonely without family.”

“Family’s ‘portant,” Pippin chimed in, reaching up to play with one of Dís long curls. “You can’t be a hobbit without family, ma said so.”

“Your mother is partially right. I imagine that to hobbits, and many other cultures, family is everything. But you can be a hobbit without family, you just have to make your own.”

“How do you make a family?” Meridoc Brandybuck sat down on Dís left, rolling his eyes at his cousin in her lap.

“You have trusted friends and companions that are just as good as blood family be with you. Your cousin Bilbo,” Dís said to Frodo, reaching down to tap on his button nose. “In fact has begun to build himself a family, and he wants you to be a part of it. So not only do you share blood between you, but he wants you to share his new family with you, I’ve no doubt.”

“Are you sure?” Frodo said suspiciously, and she knew exactly why he asked her that.

Blast those Sackville-Bagginses. They had been pushing to ‘adopt’ Frodo, but had no qualms of telling the small hobbitling exactly why they wanted him with them. Frodo had a sizable inheritance from his parents passing, as well as Bilbo Baggin’s passing on the mantle of head of the Baggins family to the small hobbit. They wanted their hands on Bag End and all of that money.

It disgusted her.

“I’ve never met Bilbo Baggins. But my boys have told me about him; his bravery, his selflessness. I can only imagine the kind of person that Bilbo Baggins is. And he is a good hobbit, taking care of my boys and my brother. I’m fairly certain that he will be eager to have you in his life, simply because you exist. He is not the kind of person to shy away from hard work and responsibility, or to turn his back on any family.”

“What about the Sackville-Bagginses?” Samwise chirped up, putting an arm around his much smaller friend.

Dís snorted indelicately, making Pippin laugh.

“I don’t think Bilbo Baggins claims them as family. In fact, from what Gerontius has told me, he calls them his ‘not-family’.”

This sent the four hobbitlings into paroxysm’s of laughter, which made her smile. Her job, it seemed, was done for the day.

“Cookie?”

“Don’t mind if I do, lad.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Bilbo Baggins!”

“What?” Bilbo turned in the direction the unfamiliar voice was hailing from, his wayward curls brushing the bridge of his nose annoyingly. He blew them out of his face as he tried to identify the speaker. “I didn’t do it, I swear.”

“I never said you did,” came the voice again, this time sounding rather pleased with itself. “I’ve messages for you that require your attention.”

That gave him pause.

“Noâk?” He queried.

“Is there any other?”

“Goodness gracious you cantankerous fowl!” Bilbo put a hand to his thundering heart, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment. “You scared me to death.”

“Hardly. I’m pretty certain you’re impervious to death at this point.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well. You, soft squishy creature, survived the Battle of the Five Armies. You also tempt fate on a daily basis by interacting with King Thorin.”

“You’re just irritated because he yelled at you for dive bombing Dain’s smiths.”

Irritated grumbling met his remark, which in turn made the hobbit grin.

“You said you had messages?” Bilbo asked, turning further on his chair.

“I did.” Noâk said, and with a flutter of feathers, she suddenly landed on his lap.

He was rather amused that the raven never asked his permission to be upon his person, but rather counted it as her due. He was also happy to note that not one Westron swear word had crossed her…beak.

“Your cousin Frodo sends his regards and-“

“Bilbo, are you- Oh there you are, laddie.” Came Balin’s voice from the direction of the door to his rooms. “I see Noâk has returned to you. I must insist that you cease your undeserved treatment on Dain’s men.”

“How do you know I did anything of which I can neither confirm nor deny?” Noâk’s cawing voice was sly and curious.

“Because he just finished watching several of Dain’s men run up into the mountain with their hands over their heads in sheer terror?” Bilbo guessed.

“So?”

“I saw you,” Balin said simply.

“Damn those thrushes. They make terrible lookouts.”

“You said I had messages?” Bilbo reminded the irascible bird on his lap.

“Oh, right.” Noâk made a noise as if she were imitating a throat clearing. “Your cousin Frodo sends his regards and hopes that you ‘feed the pretty talking birdy’ nice things. Your grandfather has news that he imparted into a letter as he didn’t trust me to transmit the full brunt of his displeasure with you.”

“What about Drogo and Primula?” Bilbo asked, trailing his fingertips across Noâk’s feathered back.

“I wasn’t able to find them. Gerontius Took demanded my immediate return,” the raven said, shrugging her wings. “I imagine it’s got something to do with the letter.”

“It sounds serious,” Bilbo murmured, walking his fingers down Noâk’s feathers to find the letter clutched in her talons. “Would you read it for me, Balin? I’d ask Ori but I haven’t seen him all day.”

“He was buried in medical texts for Óin and that elven healer there.”

“Mordollwen.”

“Yes, Mordollwen.” Balin said, taking the letter from Bilbo and the sound of paper crumpling indicated that he had opened it.

Bilbo shifted on his seat in front of the fire. Despite it being midday, the fire had been lit by Bofur before he had left for a day of clearing out more rooms. They had been making very good headway as the further in they moved, the less they had to clean out. It seemed that the dragon’s damage had been mostly within the treasury, so now it was simply an issue of clearing debris and removing dilapidated furniture.

They had already cleared enough rooms to house those that were in the mountain, which was a relief. Bilbo knew that most of the Men and dwarves had been doubling and sometimes tripling up in an effort to conserve space to make the clearing easier. Now, enough space had been cleared to comfortably house everyone, and there were enough rooms left over to please Thorin’s worries over space. Still, Bofur and the other miners that had volunteered their services worked tirelessly to clear more and more rooms in preparation of the caravans from the Blue Mountains.

Noâk shifted on Bilbo’s lap and Bilbo made her more comfortable, scratching gently at her wings and nestling in the soft down of her feathers to get any itchy spots. She deserved a reward for flying for so long for him, in his opinion. That and he was horribly amused by her antics regarding the ‘infiltrators’ of the mountain.

“So who is this Gerontius Took, laddie?” Balin asked.

“My Grandfather, the Thane of the Shire.”

“Thane?” Balin asked, his voice strangled. “As in…the leader of the Shire?”

“He’s the head of the Council, yes,” Bilbo said, his chest puffing out in familial pride. “He’s my mother’s father, actually.”

“So…you’re a prince?”

Bilbo frowned, shaking his head.

“No, we hobbits don’t have royalty like dwarves and men do.”

“But your grandfather is the leader of the Shire.”

“Yes.”

“And head of this Council, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So he’s a king.”

“Ye-wait, no, not at all. We’re not his subjects. It’s a democracy of sorts. The positions on the Council are mostly inherited; heads of the major branches of the family have seats. The Thane is voted into office, until his passing.”

“Voted?” Balin asked incredulously.

“Yes, voted. It’s not…it’s not like there’s a royal family or anything.”

“What family has predominantly been Thane of the Shire?” Balin asked curiously.

“Tooks for the most part. Some Bagginses, even a Brandybuck a few times. Mostly Tooks though.”

“I see…” Balin trailed off, and there was silence in the room for several minutes before the sound of papers rustling reached Bilbo’s sensitive ears.

As Balin read the letter, Bilbo felt a wide range of emotions. Happiness that his grandfather was still well enough to be sassy. Grief at the passing of his cousins and worry over little Frodo. Mounting frustrations at the Sackville-Bagginses trying to weasel in on a grieving little fauntling. Concern on what to do with his newly orphaned cousin.

The idea that Gerontius presented was…sound. Dangerous, but sound. The thought of the little Frodo he remembered making the journey across Arda to Erebor was terrifying, to be frank. But he wanted the lad here, with him.

They could be a family together.

“What are you going to do, lad?” Balin asked after finishing the letter.

“I’m not certain. I should talk to Thorin about this.”

“You did suggest that the influx of hobbits would be for our betterment, as far as the food shortage is concerned.”

“Well, yes I did, but …it’s just...”

“Frodo’s how old?”

“Seven, now. He’s just a tiny fauntling.” Bilbo said, clenching his hands in the knitted blanket on his lap – one of Ori’s design. “He was born too early, and was sickly for so long that many feared he wouldn’t survive. He’s the last of the Baggins’, aside from me, now.”

“What do you mean, laddie?”

“My parents died when I was very young. Not as young as Frodo, mind, but I was barely past my tween years when I became head of the Baggins family line. My cousin Drogo was the only Baggins cousin I had.” Bilbo explained.

“You were the last of your immediate line?”

“Yes. If I had died, the title of the head of family would have fallen to Drogo.”

“Were you on this…family council of the Shire?” Balin asked, his voice rather strangled.

“I was. We didn’t meet very often, maybe once or twice a year.”

“What did this Council do, exactly?”

“Well, we advised the Thane on laws and rules, if a situation arose that needed to be addressed.” Bilbo explained patiently, a slightly confused tone to his voice.

“What exactly does the Thane do, then?”

“Well, he has the veto power to certain proposals brought up by the Council. He’s the one that enforces the laws and makes sure our Bounders are on proper rotations. When there is a civil problem, he passes judgment in favor of or against the person bringing the problem to his attention.” Bilbo recited, frowning as he thought about the duties of the Thane.

“I see.”

By the tone of his voice, Bilbo could tell that he truly didn’t see, but how to explain something that appeared to be so foreign to dwarrow culture? Looking back over his answers, he could, perhaps, see how they might have confused Balin.

Someone knocked on the door and when Bilbo called out to ask who it was, came the rather impatient voice of the King of the Lonely Mountain.

“Come in!” Bilbo said with a smile on his face.

And if it was a little devious, well. How were they to know the thoughts behind his smile? He remembered very well the slightly intoxicated dance they had shared, the laughter and the warmth that had seared down to his bones at their embrace. Though there was nothing overly familiar about the dance, there was an intimacy between them that was undeniable – at least to him.

That and he quite enjoyed making the King Under the Mountain stammer. In his mind’s eye, he could see Thorin blush and stammer. A sharp pain made him realize that he’d never see that beloved face again and he dropped his face to ‘stare’ at his lap. He felt Noâk nuzzle into his curls, trying to tame them, which made him wonder if he was just obvious or just in obvious need of comfort.

He mostly tuned out Thorin’s words to Noâk, admonishing her for her continued harassment to Dain’s men, instead petting her warmly and chuckling as her language devolved into swears and muttered oaths. She amused him so.

“Now that that’s out of the way, was there something you needed, Thorin?” Bilbo asked curiously, a smile on his face as he tipped his head to the side to face the direction of where he thought Thorin would be standing.

“I merely thought to see what news of the Shire and your idea to utilize those Hobbits who are willing to come to the mountain to cultivate crops. We’ll be in winter soon here, and I’d like to hope that we won’t have to delay too long to plant the crops.”

“I have every faith in their abilities to make certain that we’ll have more than enough crops to feed our people. It’s the hunter’s that I’m worried about. Between rebuilding Dale during the warmer months, we’re going to have to train more dwarrow hunting to make certain we’re getting enough meat.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Thorin said, a little smugly and Bilbo shook his head with a wry smile.

“And what is your plan, Oh Great Leader?”

“Just what you said. We’ll train more dwarves to do the hunting to take the burden off of the Men and Elves. We’re also going to work on breeding more animals for food. It may take a few years but Erebor will be a place of plenty once again, mark my words. Between the meat, and the vegetables brought into the mountain by the Hobbits, we’ll eat well.”

“On another note, there are some things in Bilbo’s letter that he needs to discus with you, Thorin.” Balin said.

“Oh?”

“My cousin’s Drogo and Primula Baggins have passed away, leaving me with their son Frodo. I’d like permission to have him brought to Erebor.”

There was a silence in the room after his statement. Bilbo began to feel a little nervous now that he brought it up to Thorin. 

“Is he serious?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo puffed up indignantly.

“I’m afraid so. Very adamant.” Balin replied.

“You don’t need to ask, Master Burglar, for your family to be brought here. If the lad is your family, we will welcome him with open arms. You need not ask permission for this.”

“I didn’t want to presume-“

His right hand was grasped in a sure, firm hand and instantly Bilbo recognized it as Thorin’s hand. There was a significant scar along the dwarf kinds thumb – a burn of some sort that he had noticed during their dance the other night. Bilbo reflexively tightened his grip in a gentle squeeze even as his heart leapt into his chest.

“It is no hardship to have another Baggins running about this mountain.”

“The Thane of the Shire,” Balin intoned after it appeared Thorin and Bilbo wouldn’t say anything for a while. “Who is also Bilbo’s grandfather, has agreed with the idea of sending hobbits to the mountain. Your sister has also declined to continue on the journey until Bilbo has let his grandfather, the Thane of the Shire, know about what is going to be happening to little Frodo.”

“Traitor.” Bilbo snarked at Balin, who chuckled evilly.

“Your grandfather is the ruler of the Shire?” Thorin asked, his voice slightly choked.

“It’s not like it sounds,” Bilbo argued, huffing and shifting in his seat much to the displeasure of Noâk, who walked up his legs and used him as a ladder to climb up on his shoulder and began to preen his hair.

“So he’s not in charge of the Shire.”

“Well, yes he is but he’s not royalty.” Bilbo said. “Not like you’re in charge of Erebor.”

There was a pause and Bilbo huffed again, crossing his arms over his chest and pouted.

“Shut up. The both of you.”


	10. Chapter 10

Thorin took a deep breath, moving in tandem with Dwalin as he relocated a sitting room table out into the hallway. They were reworking one of the three sitting rooms just off to the side of Bilbo’s rooms into a nursery-slash-toddler room. Located between Bilbo’s rooms and Thorin’s rooms, and having its own doorway to the shared bathing chambers, it was actually a sitting room that was shared between the two main rooms for the purpose of letting the King and Queen socialize by themselves.

Thorin wondered if Bilbo realized the significance of what he was doing and shook his head at his thoughts. The Hobbit had no idea that putting his nephew Frodo in the adjoining room to their chambers was tantamount to Thorin adopting the lad himself. Thorin had little doubt that he would be married to Bilbo Baggins, and it was just a matter of time once the actual Courting began.

He hoped.

“So, let me get this straight.” Dwalin said, puffing a little under the weight of a blanket trunk as he moved it from the room into the hallway. “You’re going to be courting the grandson of the ruler of the Shire.”

“Correct.”

“So he’s essentially a prince.”

“For all intents and purposes, yes.”

“But you’re going to court him the way of a noblemen courting a commoner?” Dwalin’s voice was incredulous. 

Thorin paused on the threshold of the adjoining room.

“Well obviously, not _now_.”

“Good. I’d hate to think you were a complete idiot.”

“Just a partial one, apparently.”

“Glad we agree on something.” Dwalin said with a clap to Thorin’s shoulder.

Thorin glowered at his oldest and dearest friend. Other than Balin, Dwalin was his closest confidant and trusted companion, and so was afforded a great deal of leeway. Thorin was sure that Dwalin was just annoying on purpose to ruffle his proverbial feathers, but every now and again he wondered just who was in charge between the two of them.

Well, Thorin amended mentally as he stepped into what would become Frodo’s bedroom; at least he knew who was in charge between Dwalin and Ori. The littlest member, sans Bilbo, of the Company had the largest member of the Company wrapped around his ink stained fingers. It was rather amusing to see Dwalin scurrying about like a chicken trying to anticipate the scribe’s needs. What was even more amusing was when Ori became fed up with the gentle handling and roughly accosted – there was no other word to use for the actions – Dwalin, dragging him into a darkened room.

Everyone learned very quickly to vacate the premises when this happened, and they’d learned it the hard way.

The room was perfectly sized for a bedroom, Thorin thought to himself, pleased with his idea. Though he had little doubt the hobbitling would probably be sleeping with Bilbo for the foreseeable future, it would definitely suit the heir of Baggins. Already the Company was planning for the arrival of the child, working on toys and blankets, Ori had found a beautiful stack of children’s stories that he was working on translating in his spare time from Khuzdul to Westron. It had its own fireplace with a brand new (pilfered from another room) safety grate to protect little fingers and hands from being burned, and once all of the lounging furniture was gone, it would be a spacious place to play with toys and books and other children-

Thorin paused at the thought, a thrill of excitement reverberating within his chest at the thought of children’s laughter in these hallowed halls. It mattered not to him whether it was the laughter of dwarrow children or hobbit children – life within these halls was to be cherished and treasured. Children were a blessing from the Valar. In dwarrow culture it was unheard of to abuse or neglect children purposefully; for all that they were reputed to give their all to their chosen craft, children were a treasure all on their own. 

While there was pressure to continue their family line, a dwarf was never forced into such unions, and due to the great discrepancy between the male and female dwarves children were rare. Then there were those dwarves that had no desire to continue their lines, they didn’t have the calling to marry, those that chose their own gender, and even pairings of mixtures of all. Dwarves were a bit simpler in their views of love and attraction than most other cultures. Asexuality, transgender, bisexuality – they were labels that often were used as weapons from Men and Elves.

To dwarves, love was love. If a dwarf felt that he (or she) had been born the wrong gender, there were public rights to claim the opposite gender and they were treated as their chosen gender with no complications. If a dwarf never felt the calling to marry or have sex, then that was their choice.

In Thorin’s opinion, Men and Elves complicated things too much. It was as if they strived for conflict and difficulties. Who had the right to tell someone they were supposed to act a certain way, be a certain sex or gender, and be attracted to a particular sex or gender? No one, not even Thorin being King Under the Mountain, had the right.

“So what is your plan of attack?” Dwalin interrupted Thorin’s train of thought, making him focus on the present task.

Trust Dwalin to view Courting as a battle.

“It was so much simpler when he was a commoner.” Thorin sighed, moving to take down a great sword that was mounted on the wall thoughtfully. “I could just shower him in jewels and gems, proving I had the means to keep him in a lifestyle that befitted the Husband of the King.”

“Yeah, but Bilbo’s not one for gems and gold though.” Dwalin stated the obvious, scratching his chin as he walked towards an end table that was beautifully crafted and carved with intricate designs.

It was also heavy as sin.

“True but even he was a bit dazzled by the sight of Erebor’s treasury.”

“More like daunted by the size of it after being sent in to steal a stone from a dragon.” Dwalin grumbled, lifting the end table easily.

Thorin paused in the action of taking yet another weapon from the wall and stacking them in a glory box. He would never be able to forgive himself for the Arkenstone Incident, as the Company was calling it. But giving it such a lighthearted title did little to ease the weight of guilt and responsibility from his chest.

A part of him wondered if this focused need to claim Bilbo for himself was being fed by the guilt and responsibility, but no. He’d slowly been growing fonder of the Hobbit as the quest progressed. By the time they’d reached Erebor, when the Gold Sickness tainted his every thought with it’s ichor touch, he’d equated Bilbo as part of his treasure horde. As already belonging to him. He knew that as soon as he’d thrown off the sickness why that had happened. Why Bilbo’s ‘betrayal’ had hurt him so badly.

The Gold Sickness had twisted his love for Bilbo into something dark and unrecognizable, something cheap and dispensable. It had been Bilbo’s voice that had forced him to throw off the shackles of the sickness and lead his people in the Battle of the Five Armies.

Now, he did not enter the treasury, ignoring the call of gold in such a way that showed his determination to never fall into its trap again. If he needed funds for anything, he would call Balin or Dwalin to enter the treasury and take what was needed. And as for the Arkenstone…

Well. It had taken a bit of time to figure out what to do with the Heart of the Mountain. In the end it had been Ori who had come up with the idea of giving it back to the mountain. 

Since its discovery and the taking of the Heart of the Mountain from the mountain itself, it had done nothing but tainted Erebor’s halls and it’s rulers with being even more susceptible to the Gold Sickness. So for now, it rested within the treasury, but there was a small contingent of miners, led by Bofur, who were creating a resting place where the Arkenstone was found so long ago. If people wanted to see the Arkenstone, they could do so from a safe distance. It was their hope that the mountain understood what they were planning, and approved.

Stonelore was a deep lore and every dwarf, whether they came from the Iron Hills or the White Mountains, had the belief that the stone they built their cities from, the stone beneath their feet, had a sentience all its own. Perhaps the removal of the Heart of the Mountain had tainted the dwarves of Erebor, and the halls of Erebor themselves.

Reaching out now, Thorin pressed a hand to the stone walls of Frodo’s room and wondered if the mountain would be happy to have little children running through her halls again.

“Am I doing this work by myself or do I need to go find Dain?” Dwalin growled in frustration as it appeared his King was transfixed by his thoughts.

“God you’re pushy.” Thorin snapped back good naturedly. “Do you talk to Ori that way?”

“Only when I want a spanking,” Dwalin said with a dirty smirk over his shoulder at Thorin.

“Oh Mahal I didn’t need to know that!” Thorin cried, pressing his hands to his eyes. “My mind! The horrible images!”

“You’re just jealous.” Dwalin teased, moving a settee on his own. “Speaking of, have you decided what your first Gift is going to be?”

Thorin nodded absently as he took an axe from the wall and put it in the glory box.

“These rooms.”

“Eh?” Dwalin said incredulously, straightening from his hunched posture in surprise. “These rooms?”

“Yes, these rooms”

“What does that prove?”

“That I can provide for him and his family, in such a fashion as to take them as my own.” Thorin explained patiently, even as he shot Dwalin a rather impatient look.

“Ahh,” Dwalin drawled as he took one of the paintings depicting the forging of the Dwarven rings off the wall. “Makes sense. Family is very important to us dwarves. What if it’s not as important to hobbits?”

“Then I’ll find out what is important and do that.” Thorin said with roll of his eyes. “You’re such a pessimist.”

“Nah, I’m a realist. There’s a difference. Could be that the hobbit doesn’t think males are attractive, you know.”

“I don’t think so. He was very comfortable ordering me to dance with him last week.” Thorin argued, carting out the full glory box (there were a surprising number of weapons in this sitting room) into the hall.

He was pleased to see that someone had been carting the things out in the hallway away while he’d been bickering with Dwalin.

“True. So we know from that instance that he’s not opposed to dancing with another male, but that could mean anything.”

Thorin stopped his forward momentum into Frodo’s room. Dwalin just wouldn’t let this go, would he? He was saying out loud all the doubts that Thorin had swimming about his head. What if Bilbo was asexual? What if he preferred the female sex? What if the dance had meant nothing to him, when it had meant something vital to Thorin?

He could still feel that compact body in his arms, his hands itching and warming with the sensory memory. The heat that Bilbo had been throwing against him, the sweet smile on his face and the flush to his cheeks had undone Thorin’s tension and soothed an ache within him that he’d been unaware he’d been carrying. The love he’d felt for the hobbit had damned near made his heart combust in his chest and he was certain that his feelings had been on his face for the whole Company to see.

But Bilbo had no sight to see it. And it broke a little piece of Thorin’s heart to realize just how much his burglar would miss now that he was blind. He’d never physically see just how much Thorin cared about him.

Thorin straightened his posture with a determined air about him. That just meant that he’d have to show Bilbo in other ways. In as many ways as it took. He wanted no doubts to his adoration of Bilbo Baggins.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lil' bit of fwump.

“Bilbo.”

“Jehoshaphat!” Bilbo startled at the words, pressing his fisted hand to his thundering heart in an attempt to stop its captured bird imitation. “Don’t _DO_ that!!”

“Sorry,” came Thorin’s voice, sounding a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you shaved off about 8 years off of my life.” Bilbo snarked back, trying to calm his panicked breathing. “What did you expect skulking around my rooms?”

“I was hardly skulking, burglar.” Thorin said dryly, and Bilbo felt a hand rest on his shoulder. “I merely passed through our joined bathroom. I thought Bombur was supposed to be with you today.”

“I hardly need a babysitter if I’m just lounging about these rooms, Thorin,” Bilbo said exasperatedly. “He got a few letters from his eldest daughter and his wife; he wanted to read it in private.”

“That’s no excuse to leave you without aid,” Thorin argued back. “You need to have someone with you, Master Burglar.”

“Just because I cannot see does not mean I’m a simpleton, Thorin,” Bilbo snapped, irritated now. “I understand that I need someone with me, but not all the dang time. I’m not completely incapable of taking care of myself.”

“Truly?”

He sounded skeptical which just burned Bilbo’s biscuits.

“Yes, truly!”

“Is that why your tunic is inside out and backwards?”

There was a moment of silence before a weak squeak escaped Bilbo’s throat. The irritation from a moment before fled from him and he was drowning in embarrassment and defeat. He put his head in his hands and simply sat down where he stood, which he guesstimated was in the middle of his bedroom. Tears welled up in his damned sightless eyes and he trembled with frustrated self-pity.

Through the rushing in his ears, which were burning with embarrassment, he could hear something, someone talking to him but all he cared about was just how hopeless everything seemed to be. How on earth was he supposed to take care of an orphaned fauntling when he couldn’t even take care of himself? Why had he sent that blasted letter to his grandfather saying that he’d take Frodo in?

He was so frustrated with his lack of progress, felt so hopeless about the future when he couldn’t even get a grip on the present complications. His fingers were burned from plopping them in the stew that Bombur had made for him earlier in the day, and now the realization that he’d mucked up dressing himself, and in front of _Thorin_ no less!! He’d been so proud of himself for getting dressed by himself when Bombur had gone to read his letter. And now to realize he’d failed even that simple task??

_Dear Eru, just open up a hole and let me drown in it_ , Bilbo thought to himself despondently.

Dimly, he felt fingers sliding through his curls, and a warmer body wrapped around him, holding him close. Realization struck him; it was Thorin holding him so gently, so tenderly. It made more tears well up in his eyes and he felt them sliding down his face. He felt a sob escape him as he realized just how pathetic he was, in front of his dearest, precious person.

“It will be alright, _ghivashel_ , we’ll get through this. It’s alright to cry, everyone does. Spend your tears so they do not make you bitter and angry inside.”

“I don’t want your pity!” Bilbo wailed, disconsolately, even as he gripped Thorin tighter to him.

“Oh, Bilbo, I don’t pity you! You are the strongest person I know! Losing your sight has not weakened your worth in my eyes.” Thorin soothed, and his gentle demeanor had the walls of Bilbo’s stubborn will crumbling.

The next hour or so was fuzzy. All Bilbo could remember was sobbing as if his heart were breaking and Thorin holding him close. As if he was something precious and whole. He cried for what seemed like hours, held tenderly within the safety of Thorin’s arms, curled up like a grieving faunt. He felt Thorin’s hand running through his curls, wiping away the tears on his face even as more poured from his eyes.

“Bilbo, please. You’re breaking my heart, _ghivashel_ ,” Thorin murmured, resting his head on Bilbo’s gently.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bilbo sniffled, hardly able to breathe through his nose from all of his crying.

“It doesn’t matter, Burglar. It’s not important.”

“Hmph,” Bilbo said huffily, realizing with a start that he was practically curled on the King’s lap, with one hand curled under his chin and the other lost in the fineness of Thorin Oakenshield’s hair.

Dear Eru, it was soft. Curly and springy, but abundant and thick as well. He rubbed his fingertips together with Thorin’s hair captured between the pads of his fingers. Still sniffling, he distracted himself from the pressing weight of misery that had almost completely dragged him under only moments ago (or rather what seemed like moments before). 

Hobbits, he reasoned, were just not made for misery and sadness. They didn’t let adversity get them down.

No, they were made of sterner things.

“Why were you in my room?” Bilbo asked softly, resting his head against Thorin’s shoulder, and simply breathing in the smell of the dwarf he loved.

“I wanted to show you something.”

“It’s kind of hard to be shown something when I’m blind,” Bilbo sniped, and then wiggled his nose when he felt it pinched in retaliation.

“Hobbit, you are determined to ruin my surprise. That’s quite enough out of you. I finished a project and I need to present it to you.”

“Is it some kind of dwarrow thing?” Bilbo said suspiciously, frowning.

“It could be construed as some kind of dwarrow thing, yes.”

Bilbo let out a dramatic sigh and sniffled again.

“Can I at least fix my shirt first before I have to go out in public?” Bilbo asked.

In answer, Thorin sat Bilbo up on the floor, and grasped the hem of Bilbo’s tunic. When he paused, Bilbo simply raised his hands high and let the dwarf king do as he pleased. Which brought to mind plenty of dirty scenarios, but this was hardly the time! He valiantly fought a blush and hoped he succeeded. He really didn’t want to answer any questions regarding the redness of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. After a moment, Thorin lowered the shirt back down onto Bilbo, right side in and turned around.

“There. Where did you find a tunic to fit you?” Thorin asked curiously.

“Dori. He’s been making me clothing since I woke up. Says that if I left it alone I’d likely freeze to death and that he’d try to make a proper dwarf out of me yet.”

“Well, he is a weaver by trade.” Thorin said, helping Bilbo to his feet, steadying him when he wobbled. “Alright?”

“As I can be,” Bilbo said softly, sighing deeply. “Where is this project of yours?”

“Walk with me to your bed first.”

Bilbo frowned at the strange question and let the dwarrow King lead him to Bilbo’s bed, where his cane that Kíli had carved for him rested. He didn’t like to have to rely on the cane while in his rooms, but perhaps he ought to use it for the meantime. Soon enough his things from Bag End would arrive and his rooms would mostly be in disarray until they could plan his room to be the most functional.

“Now, count the steps with me to reach the proper door.”

“Are we going to the bathroom?” Bilbo asked, taking the cane in one hand as the other was held in both of Thorin’s.

Bilbo was unable to stop his fingers from tightening around Thorin’s gently.

“No, we’re going through the other door, the one to the sitting room that’s between your rooms and mine.” Thorin answered, rubbing his thumbs over the top of Bilbo’s hand.

Eleven steps later, they made it to the door. Opening it, Bilbo counted four more steps before they stopped.

“So what’s special about this room now?”

“Turn right, and take four steps.” Thorin replied.

Bilbo huffed in mock exasperation, grumbling good naturedly under his breath about the bossiness of kinds these days. On the fourth step, Bilbo’s shins bumped into something solid, but not hard enough to bruise him. Reflexively, Bilbo’s hand jerked out of Thorin’s and he pressed it on the object.

Where his shins were, was hard and long, but the material under his hand was soft and warm. He could feel the fabric, knitted like Ori’s blankets. Curious now, he stretched out, slow realization dawning on him what he was feeling. A little headboard, a little footboard, the softness _was_ a blanket from Ori, and under that was a mattress.

“There’s a bed in our sitting room.” Bilbo said baldly.

Thorin didn’t say anything; instead Bilbo could feel his presence at his side, resting one hand on the small of his back gently.

“Is this-“

“It’s for your nephew, Frodo.” Thorin interrupted. “The rooms have blue linens, since you said his favorite color is blue. He has a fireplace in the far corner of the room, with a few plush chairs around it. The bookcases are empty, ready to house whatever he’d like to put there. He has a few empty chests for toys and extra blankets. Ori found a desk that should be small enough for a hobbitling to study at. He’ll have his own door to our shared bathroom, and directly across the room from your doorway is the doorway to my rooms as well. That way he’ll be safe on both sides.”

“Th-thorin…” Bilbo stammered, his lips trembling with emotion.

“I wanted you to know that he will be safe and happy here, ready to make a new life in Erebor with us both. He’ll belong with us and we’ll take care of him. I’ve already decreed that both he and you can learn Khuzdul as soon as he gets here. You’ve more than proven yourself to be a Dwarrow-Friend, and your heir-son should be just as recognized for your accomplishments. Bilbo…” Thorin said softly, one of his hands coming to grasp both of Bilbo’s again. “Are you happy? If you don’t like it-“

“No!” Bilbo burst out sharply. “No, it’s wonderful! Oh, Thorin!”

“You look as if you’re about to cry again. I don’t think my heart could take it, Burglar.”

“Then I won’t cry again today. Promise,” Bilbo said, sniffling them back nonetheless. “Do you truly mean it? That we have a place here?”

“Do you doubt it, Master Burglar?” Thorin said. Bilbo flinched slightly as a broad hand came in contact with his face. A blush stained his cheeks as he realized that Thorin was cupping his cheek gently. “There is no greater honor for me than to have you by my side, Bilbo Baggins.”

“A-are you…” Bilbo stuttered, licking his suddenly dry lips. “What are you saying, Thorin?”

“I’m saying that you are precious to me. That your heir-son will be precious to me, simply for being yours. That you deserve all the wonders that this mountain has to offer.”

“Thorin…”

“Yes, _ghishavel_?”

Bilbo paused, and in the end didn’t ask the question he wanted to ask. It sounded as if Thorin meant to court Bilbo, and this project could be construed as one of the steps of a courting. But he didn’t want to come straight out and ask, too afraid of what the answer might truly be.

“What does that mean?”

“Here is your first Khuzdul lesson, Burglar.” Thorin’s voice was far too amused now. “ _ghishavel_ means ‘treasure of all treasures’.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler Chapter is filler. Also short chapter is shorter. More later!!

Winter rolled in with a fierceness that took many of the occupants of the Lonely Mountain’s breath away. It seemed as if one day it was still chilly and cold, and the next found pounds of snow being plopped on the mountain and surrounding areas. The frigid temperatures made for a poor companion inside the mountain.

It was with great cheer that everyone discovered that the heating system of pipes in the walls and flooring helped chase away the winter’s bite and the roaring fires of every room helped to alleviate the cold.

By the time the first caravan arrived, there were enough rooms to house everyone most comfortably. The Trade Halls had been cleared as well, in an effort to have a place to sell wares and do trade for items such as blankets, clothing, toys and other necessities for the weary travelers. They had certainly traveled a long way, and with such a short amount of time no less!

Thorin watched as his Company embraced their families and loved ones, wishing that his sister was among them to ease his heart and the hearts of his sister-sons. While he understood her decision and supported it, he still wished she was among the first to see their old home again.

Gloin's wife was a lovely dwarrowdam, with flowing blonde hair, gray eyes and ample, intricate beard. If Thorin had felt that way about females, he would have had to say that she had the prettiest beard he’d seen in a long time. The jeweler had fallen for their banker member of the Company when they were only children. Little Gimli wasn't so little any longer, instead standing almost at an even height with his father. His beard was growing in impressive as well.

No longer would their women and children be forced to beg and scrape and save for food and shelter. No longer would they suffer the winters cold with threadbare blankets and little rations to satiate hungry bellies. No, he had finally delivered the promise he’d made to Durin’s Folk so long ago and he felt vindicated for it. Proud of his accomplishment.

And it would never have happened, especially not with this much success definitely, without his Burglar.

He knew that the smallest of their Company still was unsure of their new relationship. It had only been a few weeks since he had called Bilbo his treasure of treasures, but during that week they had bonded fiercely. Intimacy before marriage wasn’t something that was practiced within Dwarven custom, but celibacy during Courting was strictly imposed. So while Thorin and Bilbo spent time together, Balin or Bofur had been Chaperoning.

It was grating on his calm, but Thorin knew it would be worthwhile. To Court Bilbo Baggins of the Shire was worth all the time in the world he could give.

The Courting seemed to be going well. Bilbo appeared to be very much enjoying his time with Thorin which was always a good sign. Thorin had been so happy when his first courting gift had been so well received; he’d been worried he was being too forward with the gift, but it seemed that it had touched Bilbo which was all that mattered to Thorin.

The next Courting Gift would be very telling. He already proved willing to protect and care for what was important to Bilbo by creating Frodo’s room between his and Bilbo’s chambers (and he’d be so happy once that separation was gone and it was simply his and Bilbo’s rooms, with them being in the same bed). Now he had to prove that he was able to provide and support Bilbo. But how to do that?

He had no ideas, which was disheartening. He had a month to figure out what his next step would be, and then it would be on to the third step of the Courting phase. The Binding. That was when the two people would bind their hair together in the Courting Braids to officially announce their courtship was near the end and that all was well and serious between the two parties.

After that it would take seven months until their marriage – it represented a month for each of the family lines of dwarves (even the ones not spoken of, such as the Ironfists, those backstabbing traitors). Briefly, Thorin wondered what it might be like to court as hobbits did, but he shook the thought away. He had to focus on what was happening in front of him, not flights of fancy. If hobbits courted a different way, then Bilbo would have said, and he would have said if he didn’t agree with Thorin courting him. Bilbo was nothing if not honest.

Bombur’s many children converged on their father with happy chatter and laughter. His oldest son Harfur was a strong lad, not yet of age, with dark brown hair and his father’s brown eyes, as well as his girth. He was a jeweler much like his mother, and very talented with silver and gems.

Beriel, Bombur’s eldest child and only daughter, took more after her mother in looks, but also took after her Uncle Bofur in mannerisms and personality. She had lovely sideburns that were woven into a delicate braid, and her dark auburn hair gleamed red in the firelight of the Main Hall’s lanterns and fires. She’d also inherited her mother’s laugh, Thorin thought with a small smile as the sound reached his ears.

He still remembered when Beriel and Fíli would play together as small children, the fights they would get into and the vicious way they defended each other. He only hoped that that fierce friendship would endure. Thorin’s eldest sister-son had been in a low mood lately, perhaps the dismal weather had gotten to him. Perhaps Beriel would knock some sense into him, like she had knocked him into the dirt when they were toddlers.

Now that was a memory that Fíli would never live down.

He watched with warmth in his chest as Bifur spoke with his eldest nephew and niece, amazed that the Ur family had, in fact, grasped Ancient Khuzdul so quickly in order to communicate with the injured dwarf. It was amazing what the bonds of family could do to motivate you. Beriel had taken up an apprenticeship under Óin, in fact, to learn how to treat and care for Bifur should the time come that he needed it.

In truth, the girl had worn Óin down to a nub, following him wherever he went and asking questions that Thorin was certain were derived from her devious plot to get her way. She was a stubborn dwarrowdam, that was for certain.

Thorin stood in front of the main fireplace and waited for the gathered dwarves to quiet on their own rather than enforce quiet like his Grandfather might have done. Soon enough, all of the dwarves within the Main Hall quieted down, and faced him expectantly.

“Welcome, Brothers and Sisters of Durin. To Erebor! To Home!”

A resounding cheer echoed in the chamber, and he smiled warmly at his people.

“Due to the reconstruction of Erebor’s halls and living quarters, there are some things that must be made public for your safety. As for now, the mines are all closer until such a time as they’re deemed safe to work within. Living quarters have been made ready, and await you all for respite. The Trade Halls have also been opened, and stalls and stores are ready to be filled with wares and goods. Master Dori is the reigning Guild Master and it is he you should speak with regarding property for business use and guild matters.

“The Elves of Mirkwood are allies and are searching for volunteers for hunting and gathering.” At this, many dwarves scowled and muttered angrily, but for the most part, they kept their displeasure to the minimum. “The Men of Dale are also in residence until Dale can be rebuilt satisfactorily. They are also allies and are helping to reconstruct Erebor in the meantime.

“To sum up, we need volunteers for hunting, reconstruction, the medical wing and the Guild Hall.” Thorin intoned. “Take the next two days to rest and reconnect with loved ones, but please don’t hesitate to work hard. Durin’s Folk do not laze about. We work hard, and we’ve now a home to envy for it. Let us take care of each other, and we will succeed in our plans to fully restore Erebor to its glory.”

A resounding cheer echoed in the Main Hallway, the people of Durin pleased with his speech. He knew that they would put aside their differences with Men and even Elves in order to survive (though the issue with the elves would need to be addressed on a larger scale), and they would not only return Erebor to its former glory, but exceed where his grandfather had planned. Their many years of suffering and toil and misery had bonded them closer as a people on a whole, and that unity would serve them well for generations to come.

“We may not have much, but we have each other. And we will keep it that way. Rest well, Durin’s Folk. We’ve earned it.”

At that, Thorin turned on his heel and made his way down through the Main Hall, and up the winding stairs that lead to the Royal Quarter. He hadn’t seen Bilbo all day, because he’d been preparing for the arrival of the first caravan. Now that more of his people were here, work would be completed at a faster pace which pleased him. What didn’t please him was the sheer amount of work that did need to be complete.

While Smaug had kept to the treasury for the most part, he had wandered the Lonely Mountain, and during his rampage after the dwarves and Bilbo he had definitely caused destruction. Bridges were out and crumbled, walls blockaded halls and tunnels collapsed. It wasn’t quite safe yet. He knew that the women would protect the children and those males that taught would do so as well, but it was still dangerous in some places.

It was frustrating that Erebor hadn’t been left alone, he thought with a sigh. In a perfect world, Smaug would have simply stayed in the treasury until he rotted away. Then again, in a perfect world, Smaug wouldn’t have invaded in the first place. But then he wouldn’t have met Master Bilbo Baggins.

And that would be a sorry world indeed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli has hidden talents. >.>

“There you are, you great lump.”

Fíli lifted his head from his hands, mentally shaking himself out of the brooding pit he found himself in when the familiar voice called to him. A figure sat down next to him, close enough that their thighs touched and the warmth of the hidden spot doubled at the closeness.

He’d hidden up high where the stairs were tricky and loose. He sat on the edge of the staircase, looking down at all of the dwarrows who had made it in the first caravan to Erebor. His mother wasn’t among them, so he wasn’t very interested in the group as a whole. He wanted to avoid people all together today, to be frank. His headaches were getting worse as time went on and while it was annoying, it also affected his moods as well. He was temperamental at best, downright irritable and broody at worst.

“Beriel?” Fíli said in wonder, before a wide smile crossed his face. “Beriel!” And he threw his arms around his friend.

She laughed her distinctive, warm laugh and hugged him back, patting him on the back roughly in her usual way. She was built like her mother, Meriel, smaller than most dwarrowdams, but she had a strength to be wary of. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was related to Dori with the amount of strength he had.

“How are you? How was the journey?” Fíli asked warmly.

“I’ve been better. Glad we’re here, nonetheless. Runur caught a cold halfway through and hasn’t been the same since. You’d think he was dying with all of the caterwauling he puts on!” Beriel said with a smile. “I see you survived the battle. Was it as fierce as they say?”

“Worse,” Fíli just barely managed to hold back the full body shudder that wanted to escape. “I don’t remember much of it, the ah –“ Fíli moved and motioned to his head. He shrugged when she hissed in sympathetic pain and reached up to press against the knotted scars. “The head wound took my memories of most of it and what I do remember was worse than I ever imagined.”

“I heard you almost died, that you all almost did.”

“We did. The Eagles of Manwe got us down from Raven Hill. I was in a coma for a while. Kíli lost his leg.”

“Mahal…” Beriel whispered, clenching his shoulder tightly. “Is he alright?”

“They’re going to fit him for a metal leg like Cousin Dain. But he’s alright.” Fíli’s haggard face turned mischievous. “He has himself a lady.”

“No!”

“Yup. An _elf_ lady.”

“Wait, what?” Beriel said with a bright laugh. “An elf? What’s your uncle say about that?”

“She did help us in the battle, and saved Kíli’s life on Raven Hill, so I imagine Uncle’s just going to have to deal with it. He’s Courting her, in his own way.”

“An elf for a sister in law…who’d have thought.”

“I certainly didn’t. But…” Fíli reached up and twirled one of his mustache braids. “Tauriel’s a good sort. She fights fierce and burns bright. She loves Kíli like nothing I’ve seen before. She defied her own King to come to our aid. She dotes on him.”

“That’s so sweet. I can’t say I’m surprised he fell for an elf. He’s always been fond of the Big Folk.”

“Don’t be cruel to him now,” Fíli warned, glowering at his friend.

“I’m not!” Beriel said, putting her glove covered hands up in defense. “I’m truly not. I’m teasing, honestly. If she's as you say, I'll definitely give her the benefit of the doubt. I’m very happy for him.”

“Are you saying that because I’ll kick your arse if you’re being cruel to him?”

“No, I’m saying that because it’s true…and you could never kick my arse. Or don’t you remember eating dirt so very often at my hands?”

“HA! I only let you win because you’re a girl.”

“Jerk.”

“That’s Prince Jerk to you.” Fíli said snootily.

“That’s right…you’re officially the prince now that you've got the mountain back. What are you going to do?” Beriel asked softly, moving over to rest her head on his shoulder and stare down at the congregated people below them.

“I don’t know.”

He didn’t pretend to not know what his friend was talking about. It would do himself a disservice, not to mention her. They’d been friends since they were toddlers, practically. And while he teased her about throwing matches between them, she had a fierce right hook that made him see stars and whole planets at a few points in his youth. She never took guff from him either. Whether it was their closeness in age, or something else, they had been comrades and friends since either of them could remember.

“I imagine you’ll know when you know.” Beriel said, and that was all that was left to say on the matter.

Fíli smiled and gave his friend a shoulder bump. She wouldn’t push. She’d just let him do the talking when he was ready for it. Having been apart for almost a full year, it was nice to just sit in silence with his friend who wouldn’t judge or criticize him. She just let him be Fíli.

“BERIEL!!”

The dwarrowdam shrieked in surprise when a brown pile of dwarf hit her from the side, knocking her into Fíli. Kíli giggled maniacally at his genius surprise attack and squished her in a tight hug. Tauriel stood at his back, holding his dropped crutch in long suffering hands as she gaze up at the ceiling as if to ask some higher power, ‘Why?’

“You brat you almost killed us!” Beriel snapped, punching Kíli’s shoulder hard.

“I’m just so glad to see a familiar face!!” He cheered, bussing her cheek and ruffling her auburn hair. “How was the journey?”

“Fine…cold. I’ll be glad to sleep in an actual bed tonight, I tell you.” Beriel said, and then she leaned back enough to see the elf that stood at Kíli’s back. “Hello, my lady.”

“Good evening,” Tauriel said with a warm smile and a nod of her head at the dwarrowdam. “How are you?”

“I am well, thank you. Would you be Tauriel?” Beriel asked with a friendly smile. When she nodded, Beriel smiled brighter, “I am Beriel, daughter of Meriel. A childhood friend.”

“Well met, lady Beriel.”

“Oh, just Beriel, please. I’m no lady.” Beriel laughed before Fíli interrupted her.

“Actually, you are. Uncle’s made Lords out of your father and uncles. So technically, you’re Lady Beriel now, daughter of Lady Meriel.”

“Well.” Beriel said with wide eyes before scowling. “That’s damned inconvenient.”

Both Fíli and Kíli laughed at her expense, knowing how she disdained titles because she felt it made most people big headed idiots. She was almost hyperproud of her low born status and being able to ground the two princes of Durin. Now she had no leg to stand on.

“I imagine you have plenty of stories about these two scamps growing up.” Tauriel said after a moment, moving to sit on Kíli’s other side.

“Oh, plenty. There was the time that we convinced Kíli to dress as a little girl –“

“He has always been tall for a dwarf and he made the prettiest little girl!” Fíli crowed with laughter as Kíli’s face slowly turned bright red.

Before he could open his mouth to protest, Beriel continued.

“Or the time he tried to take own of their cousin Dain’s warboars home-“

“We rode it through town and destroyed three fences-“

“That was _your_ idea!” Kíli spluttered.

“There’s also the time that he was convinced he was a changeling fairy and kept trying to cast spells on us to do his chores for him.”

“That wouldn’t have gone on so long if you both hadn’t pretended to be under my thrall!”

“Then there was the second and third time we convinced him to dress like a girl.”

“We almost got him married to that one Iron Hills lordling’s son, remember?”

“Just how many times have you been convinced to cross dress, my love?” Tauriel asked with a bright laugh.

Kíli flushed even more and stammered when his wide brown eyes met her knowing hazel.

“This might be something we have to explore later,” Tauriel teased, leaning down to nuzzle noses.

“Oh Bleck, they’re being lovey!” Fíli gagged and pretended to vomit as his brother flushed for a whole new reason and he squirmed where he sat.

“Oh the horror!!” Beriel cackled with laughter, elbowing the eldest Prince in her mirth. “We should leave them alone so they can make moon eyes at each other alone.”

“Hey!” Kíli pouted, scowling at them.

Fíli and Beriel instantly put on their best ‘moon’ eyed looks and cupped their hands under their chins. When he turned to complain to his lovely betrothed, he found her mimicking the pose right down to the placement of the hands.

“You all suck.”


	14. Chapter 14

Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End, Barrel Rider, He Who Walks Unseen had absolutely _no_ idea what had gotten into Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. Since the day, weeks ago, when the dwarrow King had presented Bilbo with his nephew’s room Thorin had been very attentive to the hobbits needs. He took his morning and evening meals with him, and always with Bofur or Balin in attendance.

Which was all fine and good, but how was he to get any courting accomplished under the heavy eye of his friends? He was almost positive that Thorin had begun the steps of Courtship – at least in a hobbits eye. Bilbo wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass him by.

Though his natural hobbitly caution was telling him not to read too much into the gesture, Bilbo had faced orcs, goblin mutant things, menacing elves and oh yes, a fire breathing dragon. He wasn’t about to let his fear hold him back from his feelings for the King. Not any longer.

When the first caravan arrived, the halls were filled with dwarrow celebrations and reunions of all sorts. Bilbo had met so many new dwarves! Even a few dwarrowdams! Meriel was Bombur’s wife, and she was as nice as any hobbit woman, with great mothering instincts and caring personality. She had eight children with Bombur, and Great Eru they were a noisy, loud and happy horde. Bofur and Bifur were equally excited to have their extended family within the mountains, and were right chuffed about being able to house them in the Royal Wings.

To be named Lords of the Realm was a great honor and one that Bilbo shared now as well. It made his skin itch a little in uncomfortable scrutiny but he brushed it off with a put upon sigh. Being a Lord now meant nothing except he was one more step closer to attaining his greatest want.

Thorin Oakenshield as his husband.

But how to go about Courting him?

He thought about his next steps. Technically, Thorin had begun to process by the room for Frodo, but that meant nothing to Bilbo in the sense of propriety. It wasn’t as if he were a proper hobbit any longer, technically. Running about wearing dwarrow clothes, having killed orcs and spiders and riddled with dragons. No, he was hardly the typical hobbit, and so he decided that the typical rules didn’t apply to him in their current form.

Typically, a hobbit Courtship was a very private affair, mostly because it involved a high level of intimacy. Hobbits were nothing if not proper and prim in public, but shut the doors and they were a right randy folk. Sex was something to be celebrated and enjoyed by the participants. Shame about intimacy and sex was a foreign concept to hobbits, being earthy creatures they enjoyed sex and lots of it.

So a hobbit Courtship involved sex; so having Balin and Bofur around made that nigh impossible! One didn’t have observers to a Courting!

But no matter what he did he couldn’t shake them. He wanted so desperately to simply crawl up Thorin’s body and touch him, taste his flesh and kiss his mouth. He wanted that broad and heavy body against him, moving in tandem with him and reaching blissful peaks over and over again. He was often left for the night aching and flustered because he had the want to kiss Thorin, but not the ability, not with witnesses that weren’t involved in the sex.

Then again, hobbit Courting also involved lots of food and handcrafted gifts, tokens to prove that their love was a constant thought in their minds and proving to be fully capable hobbits able to care and provide for their chosen spouse.

Being blind certainly limited his choices in the matter. He couldn’t just jump Thorin like he wanted to, he couldn’t craft anything as he had no ability to see, he couldn’t cook-

Well…that was well enough and good, listing all the things he couldn’t accomplish with his handicap. But what _could_ he do about all of this? There was nothing for it. He’d just have to ask the questions to the right people.

Tapping his lower lip, Bilbo gingerly climbed to his feet, grasping the splendid cane that Kíli had carved for him. He took the fourteen steps to the left and reached out with his free hand towards where the door was. Ah, he was so close this time! Only two steps to the right along the wall and he was at the door to his rooms. Opening the door, he listened for one of his dwarves.

“Bilbo?” Came Dwalin’s amused voice. “Did you need somethin?”

“I uh…yes. Could you fetch Ori for me? I’ve a matter to speak with him about.”

“Oh?” Dwalin said curiously, and Bilbo could hear the heavy footfalls of dwarven boots on stone floors as the dwarf came closer. “Anythin’ I can do to help?”

“No no, I’m certain Ori can help me. It’s an information matter is all.”

“I’ll send one of the runners to get him. Thorin’d have my head if I left you alone.”

“He’d have your head knowing you sit outside my rooms rather than inside with me, you mean,” Bilbo grumbled.

“That too.” Dwalin said happily and Bilbo shook his head in wry amusement.

Dwarves would never cease to surprise, amuse and amaze him. Dwalin was giving him his space to do as he pleased. And really, the whole Company had backed off of coddling him and hovering quite a bit after Bilbo had finally thrown an epic meltdown. Most of the Company had apologized for their treatment of him, not realizing just how much freedom they had been taking from him. The rest, mostly the elder ones, hadn’t apologized but instead had simply backed off in response. Bilbo reasoned it was because they didn’t feel bad for coddling him because they saw it as caring for one of their kin, which made Bilbo warm inside.

He finally had family again.

“When is Gandalf due to arrive, do you know?” Bilbo asked Dwalin, shuffling to the side and opening the door more for the large dwarf to enter his rooms.

Dwalin huffed and clomped into the room and Bilbo counted it as a victory since he didn’t necessarily have to ask him to come in.

“Well, the first caravan came in three weeks ago, so I can’t imagine he’ll be more than three months. He’ll be travelling with your hobbits and little one. Oh, and Dís.”

“I’m quite eager to meet her,” Bilbo said, shuffling his way back two steps to the right and the fourteen steps back to his chair.

Success! He managed it without tripping or running into anything!

“She’s an amazing dwarrowdam, Dís is. She raised the boys primarily by herself, while Thorin was their male role model, Dís was the disciplinarian and taskmaster. I believe they got their sense of fun and adventure from Thorin.” Bilbo heard a creak and wondered if Dwalin had sat down in the chair across from him.

“From Thorin?” Bilbo asked in surprise.

“He was a vicious trickster in his youth, I tell you. Nobody believes me that most of the trouble I got into when I was a lil one was because he left me holding the bag!”

Bilbo laughed brightly at the mental image of a little Thorin causing chaos and mischief within the halls of Erebor.

“Those boys were right spoiled growing up, though,” Dwalin continued softly. “They knew their father loved them, Thorin never let them forget it, but they also knew that Thorin adored them as well. Whenever Thorin babysat them, they would all end up in one big puppy pile in the boys room, toys and games scattered across the floor, blankets and pillows set up as tents and forts.”

“He sounds like he would be a wonderful father.” Bilbo said softly, and felt the dreamy smile on his lips grow wider at the thought.

“He will be.” Dwalin said confidently, and made Bilbo focus on him rather than the little dizzy daydream in his head.

“He will be?” Bilbo asked softly.

“O’course! We’ll have another lil one running through the Royal Wing, won’t we?” Dwalin said, his deep gravelly voice happy and jovial, and a little bit rushed. “Your lad won’t know what to do with the King Under the Mountain spoiling him for attention and a playmate.”

“You think so?” Bilbo inquired.

“I know so. Thorin loves lil ones, goes gaga over all the babes he sees.” Dwalin said, his tone assured and easy. “I can’t imagine just how small and tiny a lil hobbitling is though. You’re already so much smaller than we are-“

“No short jokes.” Bilbo ordered sternly, waving his cane threateningly.

“Alright no short jokes.” Dwalin said quickly, and Bilbo smiled smugly in the knowledge that he’d become something to fear with the cane. 

“Bilbo, you wanted to see me?” Ori’s voice came from the doorway, and Bilbo turned in his seat to face the doorway where his friend’s voice was.

“Yes! I’ve a request to make of you,” Bilbo said happily, delighting in the fact that his plan might come to fruition.

“Anything, my friend.”

“Come in, first of all.” Bilbo said with a laugh and he listened to Ori shuffle his way into the room and shut the door behind him. “No. Tell me about Dwarrow Courtships.”

“What?” Ori squeaked in surprise, and even Dwalin suddenly seemed to develop a ragged sounding cough.

“Well, I’m wondering about Dwarven Courtships. In Hobbiton, if we wanted to court someone it would be a simple enough process.” Bilbo said easily, even as his stomach twisted with nerves. “You present them with a gift that shows your intention to join families with them, and then you retire for a period of 4 weeks to attend to…well, personal matters.”

“Personal matters?” Dwalin asked, confusion evident in his tone.

“Well…yes. I suppose. Of a sort.” Bilbo felt his cheeks burning but resolutely did not shift in his chair like he wanted to.

“Of what sort?” Ori asked, his voice still strangled but still curious.

“Of the….intimate kind.”

“Ohhh…” Both Dwalin and Ori said knowingly.

“Well, Dwarrow Courtship,” Ori said after a moment (and Bilbo wondered if there was some silent communication thing going on between the two dwarves). “Usually lasts seven months-“

“One month to represent each of the founding fathers of the Dwarven Kingdoms – even the ones we don’t like. Like the Ironfists.”

“That long?” Bilbo asked in surprise, his eyes widening in shock.

“How long do the hobbits court in the Shire?” Ori asked curiously.

“About a month and a half.”

“So fast!” Ori said, amazed.

“Once we…engage in the personal aspects of our Courtship, we are together for 4 whole weeks, day in and day out. It’s not just, all sex and no substance. You cook and clean together. You live together and function together. If at any time during that month, you decide that you cannot live together, you part ways. If at the end of that month, you decide that you cannot be married to each other, you can part ways with no hurt feelings, although that is exceptionally rare. We hobbits don’t waste time when it comes to love.”

“How do you initiate a Courting?” Ori asked.

“Well…normally you do something that shows your interest in joining families together. Family is everything to hobbits. There’s nothing more attractive to a hobbit than the idea of a partner taking serious interest in your family and becoming part of it, or you joining theirs.” Bilbo explained. “Now, tell me more about Dwarrow Courtships.”

“Right, uhm. Seven months, each month dedicated to a different aspect of Dwarven Bloodlines. Ironfist, Broadbeam, Longbeards, Firebeards, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks and Stonefoots. Each month focuses on some aspect of each of these lines. Longbeards are known for their devotion to family, while the Blacklocks are known for their loyalty. Stiffbeards are known for being joyous, so that month is usually focused on joy and happiness. Firebeards are known for their skills as weaponsmiths, so that month is devoted to protection and defense. Broadbeams are known for their comforts, and the Stonefoots are known for their honor.”

“What about the Ironfists?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“Devotion, as much as we don’t like the Ironfists.” Dwalin answered. 

“They’re known for their devotion to their own culture and while they’re extremely xenophobic, their devotion in its entirety is something to admire.” Ori continued.

“Tightfisted bastards.”

“So did you two Court?” Bilbo asked, interrupting what surely would have been a spectacular rant, judging by Dwalin’s irritated muttering.

“We did. It was a private affair, but we always followed tradition and had a chaperone with us at all times.” Ori explained.

“So a chaperone is necessary?” Bilbo asked curiously. “Does it have to be family or can it be a trusted friend?”

“In our case it was a bit of both – we Courted during the journey to Erebor and shortly afterwards. So while we had Balin and Dori, we also had everyone else.”

“I wasn’t aware of your Courting during the journey. Was it something I missed?” Bilbo wondered.

“Not necessarily,” Ori reassured the hobbit. “Both Dwalin and I are private people, and so our Courting was very much a private affair. It depends on the …people involved, I imagine.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Dwalin said, picking up the thread of conversation. “Say if Nori were to Court another dwarrow or even a hobbit, I doubt he would keep it very private. He’s a rather flamboyant dwarrow, no offense meant, my love.”

“None taken,” Ori said with a smile in his voice. “Now that that’s settled, why do you ask about Courting, Bilbo? Just out of curiosity? With your position I would imagine that you would be more comfortable just letting it happen.”

“What do you mean ‘my position’?” Bilbo asked confusedly.

“Being well… I just assumed you’d be more of a romantic, letting things take their own pace. Not having trouble, are you?”

“Trouble? Well, no but…I do have a conundrum, however.”

“What is it lad?” Dwalin asked, his voice tense. “No one’s bothering you, are they?”

“Heavens no, my friend. I’m quite comfortable and no one has bothered me at all. I was just wondering if you…well if you happened to know if…”

“Know if what?” Ori asked after it appeared Bilbo wouldn’t continue.

“I understand it’s none of my business, but I was wondering if you happened to know if Thorin is Courting anyone. Just to...know if perhaps my feelings might be returned.”

“You’re jokin’.” Dwalin’s voice was strangled.

“Hardly,” Bilbo sniffed indignant. “Hobbits don’t joke about with their hearts…and it seems my heart has decided that Thorin is what it wants. So is he?”

“As…well, Bilbo, as a matter of fact he is.” Ori said, sounding rather shocked.

Bilbo deflated in his chair. Oh, dammit all that was not news he wanted to know! He should have simply kept his mouth shut and pined away until his bones were dust in the ground. He closed his eyes and sighed softly.

“Anyone I might know?” Bilbo asked weakly.

“Well…yes, as a matter of fact.” Ori said, sounding rather perplexed. “You.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do believe an explanation is in order, good sir.

He sat alone in his rooms – Dwalin and Ori had left him shortly after Ori had informed Bilbo that he was the one being courted. He felt completely off balance, sitting in the fire warmed chair before the fireplace. There was a fine tremble in his hands, which he attempted to hide with clenched fists.

Ori and Dwalin had explained a great deal during their visit. They had explained that in abstaining from sexual intercourse was the dwarven way to honor the body. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t cuddles and kisses, touches and caresses, but merely sex was a holy act, fierce and passionate. The Courting was the dwarven way to honor the person without the act of sex, showing their emotions and feelings for their partner. Many dwarrow were asexual, and such didn’t feel the pull of sexual attraction, but still longed for companionship and partnership.

At first, Bilbo had been confused by all of this. Abstaining from the act of sex was honoring the person? But then Ori had explained the mythos of the creation of the Dwarven race. How each dwarf was one half of a piece of stone. Stone, rock, gems and jewels were sacred to the dwarven race because of this. Their work with these mediums equated to working on the body of Mahal. With that thought in mind, dwarves approached Courting in a much different direction than most other races.

In essence, a dwarf fell in love with the person, before feeling sexual attraction. They loved the person to their core, before wanting carnal delights.

While it was very foreign and different, there was a part of Bilbo that was highly flattered by this.

Thorin was no different than many other dwarrow in the sense that he had felt very little sexual desire until he had fallen in love. With Bilbo.

Which brought the realization of a lifetime to Bilbo Baggins. Thorin Oakenshield was, potentially, a virgin. He had no idea to Thorin’s past, and really it had no real bearing on the matter. Bilbo himself wasn’t a virgin – he wasn’t promiscuous, but neither had he turned down offers of companionship. He’d never been Courted before, and had settled into the life of Bachelordom quite content with a few random dalliances here and there. He knew what he liked, and had experience. He knew he wanted Thorin Oakenshield with a burning, carnal desire that ate him up sometimes, but…

This was obviously something that was very important to Dwarrow Culture. While at first he had thought perhaps the dwarven community was ashamed of their bodies, not celebrating passion and sex the way hobbits did, the fact of which Bilbo found alarming. And then he thought of it. He was looking at the situation from an outsider’s point of view. This was a huge part of dwarrow culture, and here he was putting hobbit label’s on it, which wasn’t right. He had no place to judge what was right or wrong.

He was a hobbit being Courted by a Dwarrow. Ori had been adamant that physical comfort and actions weren’t prohibited, just sexual intercourse. So there was a desire for physical touch, for the intimacy of touch without it turning into something blatantly sexual. He could use that, Bilbo thought with a muddled mental hiccup. So he wouldn’t be having sex just yet with the dwarf he loved.

Was that really so terrible?

The majority of what he felt was elation – he was chosen by Thorin to court! This was far better than he had ever hoped to expect considering his feelings for the Dwarrow King. A Dwarrow Courtship would prove to be a challenge, but Bilbo wouldn’t shrink from it.

Once upon a time, he might have. He might have turned away in fear of failure or disappointment. But that hobbit was not the hobbit he had grown to be on this journey to the East. The hobbit under the mountain was of sterner, stronger stock.

But there was a part of him, small and insidious, that doubted. Was Thorin doing this Courting because he felt sorry for Bilbo, felt responsible for his lack of sight? Did Thorin hold him in the same high esteem that Bilbo held Thorin. What if, what if, what if…

He gently shook himself, trying to get a grip on his runaway thoughts. It mattered very little, once he thought about it. The fact of the matter was that he was being Courted by Thorin, and Thorin had neglected to inform Bilbo of this.

Which certainly burned his biscuits.

How on Arda was he supposed to react appropriately if he had no idea what was going on around him? He felt as if his blindness was being taken for granted, which made him angry. He wasn’t a simpleton. He wasn’t an idiotic fool who couldn’t grasp the concept of being wooed by Thorin. Why hadn’t Thorin told him about all of this?

He felt embarrassed. Here he had been planning to Court Thorin on his own terms, and he hadn’t known that such a thing would be viewed so strangely from a dwarf’s perspective. He would have seriously embarrassed himself, and the thought made his cheeks sting with the force of his blush.

And there was the rub. Neither he nor Thorin had thought to confer with _each other_ about their intentions. They had simply gone about doing it. In a way, Thorin was just as metaphorically blind as Bilbo. Particularly in this one instance, it seemed.

With a sigh, Bilbo drank his now cool cup of tea, grimacing. Nothing was worse than cold tea when you had a full mind.

There was nothing for it. With a deep sigh, Bilbo settled back to wait in the chair until the evening meal, which wasn’t too far away. Waiting had never been one of his strong suits. He had become far too used to movement and doing something with his hands since the start of his adventure to the East, and blindness hadn’t settled well with that habit. He consciously stopped himself from fidgeting in the chair as he waited.

He didn’t have to wait for very long. In fact, it was so short that he had a sneaking suspicion that Ori and Dwalin had gone straight to Thorin and confessed their not-so-secret conversation with Bilbo and the things they had learned. The slightly hesitant knock on his door definitely clued him in.

“Come in,” He called calmly, reaching over to feel with his free hand if the saucer on the table next to his chair were within reach.

As the door opened, he found the saucer and carefully placed his now empty cup on it. Cautious footfalls reached his sensitive ears as two people came into the room, and he turned his head slightly towards the sound.

“Thorin?”

“I’m here, _ghishavel_. As is Balin.”

“I see.” Bilbo said softly, his fingers tangling with themselves in his lap.

“I imagine you’ve a lot of questions, Bilbo.” Balin’s voice was warm and concerned from in front of him.

“Not as many as you’d think, my friend.” Bilbo said with a soft laugh. “The main question is why. Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to Court me?”

There was a surprised silence after his words and Bilbo shifted on his chair seat.

“You don’t wish to know about the steps to Courting or the tasks involved-“

“Actually, Ori and Dwalin filled me in on most if not all of those answers. They were very informative.” Bilbo said, a little waspishly.

“I…forget that you have a culture all of your own,” Thorin said haltingly. “You have woven yourself so deeply into me, that I forget that you are not privy to my thoughts and fears.”

“Your fears?” Bilbo was flabbergasted.

“Yes, my hobbit, my fears. I feared you would turn me down, I feared you would turn your back on my love for you and thought a Courtship would be the easiest way to show my devotion to you.” Thorin said, slowly as if savoring the words and the weight of them.

“So you wanted to…what, prove yourself to me?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“In a way yes. It’s my desire to show you just how much I value your presence in my life. I know of no other way to demonstrate that. It is such a …intrinsic part of my culture.”

“I…I think I see now,” Bilbo said and then laughed softly, “At least my heart see’s it now.”

“Did you truly doubt my intentions? I thought the fact that we always had a Chaperone would have been blatantly obvious.”

“Thorin, in Hobbit culture, when interest in marriage is shown, they spend a month living together. This includes sex, gardening, cooking and just growing used to one another on an intimate level.” Bilbo explained.

“So…you have had Courtship offers in the past?” Thorin asked, his voice curious.

“I’ve not been Courted, no. But neither am I a virgin,” Bilbo said, hesitating on the confession.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Bilbo,” Thorin said softly, and Bilbo felt his hand grabbed in two large ones, broad, thick fingers stroking his palm tenderly. “I cannot imagine having the mating instincts that we feel when we meet our One all of your life. It must have been a …trying time.”

Bilbo laughed, delighted at Thorin’s acceptance. He felt so relieved that, despite their differences in cultural norms, there was no shame in Bilbo not being a virgin. He had been worried, but only by a little bit. Bilbo felt no shame in his past actions – sex was a pleasure and there was no disgrace in sex in the Shire.

“It was, it truly was. All of these hormones flooding your body and making you randy at inopportune times. It was truly a trying time.”

Their fingers interlaced together and Bilbo smiled softly, a blush staining his cheeks.

“What is the next step in our Courtship?” He asked quietly.

“So you still desire to continue with the Courtship, despite it being outside of your cultural norms?” Balin asked, and it sounded rather formal.

The hand laced with his tightened and Bilbo reached down to pat their joined hands tenderly.

“I wouldn’t turn this chance away, not for anything in the world.” Bilbo said softly, his smile wide and affectionate. “You are my happiness, Thorin. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I would be honored to continue with this Courtship.”

Their joined hands were raised, and Bilbo felt a whiskery series of kisses along his knuckles. Oh yes, Bilbo thought, he deserved the chance to win Thorin for himself. If this is what it took to make it official, then he would walk this path blind.

Both literally and figuratively.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sassy Bilbo is sassy.

Thorin sat on his throne, a pensive look on his face. No one dared to bother him there, for once, mostly because of the glares and glowers that he gave anyone who’d tried earlier in the day. He wanted to be left alone, and Balin had taken it upon himself to guard the doors to the throne room from annoying visitors.

It was a good thing that the morning had been full of meetings, rather than the afternoon. Now he could sit and think on his problems, or rather, the most important problem.

Bilbo Baggins was proving to be a difficult being to Court.

He knew that he wanted to focus the next month on comfort, but was at a loss on how to progress into it. He only had a few days left to focus on family, but that was well and truly in hand to be honest. He spent as much free time with his hobbit, as well as his nephews and prepared the royal chambers for the arrival of Bilbo’s heir-son. There was a great meaning behind the gesture.

But the next month he wanted to make certain that his hobbit was comfortable at all times. With his blindness, he truly needed someone with him, but most of the Company had other demands on their time and couldn’t spend all day with him. That and Bilbo found it to be a bit stifling, but the truth of the matter was that he did need someone with him. Even if he was exasperated with them all, he knew that as well.

But the question was who did he trust with his hobbit’s safety and comfort?

“Balin.”

The door to the throne room opened with a low squeak, Thorin’s voice echoing in the chamber enough to be heard through the door.

“Your Majesty.” Balin said, his eyes concerned.

“Please send Óin to me as soon as convenient. I’ve need to speak with him.” Thorin said, standing to his feet to pace the room.

“Right away Your Majesty.” Balin said with a nod and a slight bow (that Thorin secretly hated with a passion).

He had given the Company the honors of not having to bow in front of him, which was a great honor indeed. But so far, no one had taken advantage of it, everyone in the Company still bowed at every opportunity. Thorin believed it was a conspiracy, they were just doing it to annoy him to death.

Brushing aside the thoughts of the Company, Thorin focused on the issue at hand. Bilbo. At the thought of the little hobbit, warmth and affection filled his core, and an unbidden smile crossed his lips. So stubborn and adorable, he thought with a soft chuckle. Bilbo was determined to do things on his own, as much as possible, and not accept the fact that he did have limitations now. Soon enough, though, Bilbo’s things would be arriving at the Erebor and he could arrange it within his rooms as he saw fit. He knew that Bilbo was looking forward to having the familiar items and furniture on hand. Though Bilbo couldn’t see these things, he could feel them, touch them, smell them. He wanted Bilbo to be as comfortable as possible.

He was so sassy, Thorin thought with a gentle smile as he paced the throne room. He didn’t hesitate to tell Thorin when he was being a ‘silly dwarf’ (which was as nice as Bilbo got – Thorin had been surprised at the hobbit’s vocabulary when it concerned people’s idiocy, stupidity and stubbornness. Although, Thorin didn’t feel obliged to mention to his hobbit how attractive Bilbo was when he sassed the king back for teasing him).

“Your Majesty, Óin son of Gròin to see you,” Balin announced after opening the door.

“Thank you, Balin.” Thorin said, turning to see their head healer. “Óin, thank you for coming.”

“Anytime, your majesty.”

“I’ve need of your assistance.”

“Whatever you need, Thorin.” Óin said, coming closer to hear better, his trusty ear trumpet on hand.

A relieved smile crossed Thorin’s face at the words, knowing that he could count on his cousin.

“As you may know, I am Courting Bilbo,” he started.

“About bloody time, do you know how long we’ve had to watch you two mooning over one another?” Óin said with a cackle and devious sparkle in his eyes. “Far too long!”

“Yes, well…I admit it took far too long to admit my attraction to Bilbo, but that’s in the past. The fact of the matter is that I am currently Courting him. I’ve decided to focus this month on the Broadbeams of our race.”

“Ahh, comfort. Good choice to focus on for a hobbit.” Óin approved.

“But I am at a loss on how to begin. I’m concerned about him being alone all of the time while we all work, and would like to assign a companion to him. Do you have any suggestions as to who I should choose?” Thorin asked.

“Well, your majesty, there are several candidates that you can choose from, but the most important aspect to consider is who will Bilbo choose.” Óin said. “You can assign all you want, but if they don’t mesh well with the hobbit, then he will just become angry and frustrated by the interference and taking away his independence. I know that he’s blind,” Óin said, forestalling any argument that Thorin might have had, “But that doesn’t make him inept or incapable of having independence or thought.”

“I’ll be honest in that I had not considered this point of view,” Thorin said after a moment, stroking his growing beard.

It would take many years to get it to the finery that he desired it to be, but it would happen in due course. He had, with the help of the intrepid Master Burglar, won the mountain back and that was enough to let him keep his honor (even if he personally thought that the shame of attacking Bilbo ought to dishonor him further – it had been pointed out to him that winning the mountain back had more than restored his honor and the issues with Bilbo and that blasted Arkenstone were more of a personal honor concern).

“Good thing you asked for assistance then,” Óin said with a smug grin.

Thorin scowled at the healer without much heat. It was true that once upon a time he would have hesitated to ask for help, especially concerning a thing as Courting. But he had bled with his Company, had faith in his Company, and would die for his Company. These were dwarrow he could trust beyond almost all others, sans direct family. If he could not be himself with them, then he couldn’t be himself with anyone.

“My suggestion is this. Set up a meeting with Bilbo and explain the next step you’re going to take. He may fight you on the need of assistance, but he’s a reasonable lad, he’ll recognize the need for someone to help him with his daily tasks. Bring up protection, too; him wandering on his own in a mountain he can’t see or feel would be dangerous. Then suggest that they meet with each candidate individually and see who works well.”

“You raise good points, Óin.”

“Damn right I do. It’s why I’m the brains of this operation.” Óin said, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his coat. 

When Thorin leveled him with a gimlet stare, Óin simply grinned smugly and whistled a merry tune before turning on his heels and walking out of the throne room.

“Blasted dwarf…I swear he’s not really deaf.” Thorin muttered, and walked back to the throne. “More like ‘selective hearing’.”

Later that evening, as he sat down with Bilbo and Balin for their evening meal (and Thorin realized with a slow spread of warmth that the hobbit was once again gaining a suitable amount of weight and was slowly regaining his tummy) Thorin brought up the subject to Bilbo.

Surprisingly, the hobbit had very little to say against the idea of someone to help him through his daily tasks. His biggest concern was taking someone away from their appointed task or goal in order to ‘babysit’ him. When Thorin reassured him that it wasn’t the case, that this dwarf would be tasked with being his companion and that he (Thorin) wanted someone to be compatible with Bilbo, the hobbit had beamed happily at him.

“I am grateful for all you do for me, you know,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of cool, refreshing water.

“I? I do very little for you, Master Burglar.” Thorin argued, feeling a flush on his cheeks that burned even brighter when Balin gave him a speaking look and grin.

“Oh, but you do a lot more than you know. Don’t think I don’t know how difficult it can be to make the time for these meals with me,” Bilbo said, looking affronted at the implication of a slight to Thorin’s character. “I quite enjoy spending time with you, especially knowing now what the purpose of the chaperone is for,” He teased the dwarrow king, who chuckled.

“It eases my troubles to spend time with you, _ghivashel_. I know that hearing about the news of the day makes you feel more included and I greatly appreciate your input on troubling matters that plague my mind.” Thorin said softly, thick fingers fiddling with his (admittedly, not used very often) silverware.

Balin was coughing rather suspiciously at this point, which made Thorin level a glare at him.

“Something to say, Balin?”

“No…bit of venison went down the wrong pipe, lad,” Balin said croakily, before taking a sip of his ale.

“Better?” Thorin said with a put upon tone.

“Quite.”

“When would you like to have these meetings with the candidates then?” Bilbo asked after taking another sip of water to wash down the delicious venison steak that Bombur had prepared for that evening’s meal.

“I was thinking within the next week or so. I would like to dedicate this month of our Courtship to comfort. Part of that is the knowledge that your needs will be met efficiently and expeditiously,” Thorin said, and then frowned when Bilbo chuckled. “What?”

“Given our history on this quest, I wasn’t aware that you even had knowledge of those two words within your vocabulary…I’m impressed.”

“Sassy Hobbit…” Thorin muttered with a good natured grin as Balin struggled not to choke on his food again.

“Only to you, my dear, only to you.”


End file.
